The Tale Of Sudhendra Vahl
by K.L. Simpson
Summary: This is the Tale of Sudhendra Vahl, a Dunmer not raised in her home province. But she is about to find out that you don't need to be of another race to be called an outlander by the native Morrowind Dunmer.
1. Prologue

So you want to know a little more about me, where I come from, how I got to be where I am? That seems a reasonable request and we should have plenty of time for me to tell my tale. I go by the name of Sudhendra Vahl. That's not my real name of course, but you'll soon understand why. I'll start at the beginning - I was raised in a small village about fifty miles west of Rihad, and I was born in the year 401 of the Third Era. What's that? Well, that is uncommonly kind of you to say so, although your flattery will gain you nothing. I come from a long-lived species and certain events (which I will relate) have conspired to provide me with a much longer life than is normal - even for one of my kind. Now, let me tell you my tale...

The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Prologue

I never knew my parents: my mother died giving birth to me and my father, from what I can discover, was an itinerant adventurer passing through on his way to somewhere adventurous from somewhere less adventurous. My mother, Gods rest her soul, caught his eye and there was a brief dalliance. Nine months later, along I came - a very short time after that, my mother departed this vale of tears. I have little, or no, recollection of what happened after that - although I have expended considerable resources over the years finding out.

Shortly after my mother's death, I was taken in by the Stendarr temple and, from there, sent to foster parents to be raised. My foster-parents were Stendarrites, although the milk of his mercy ran thinly in their veins. I was just a source of income from the Temple for them and when that ran out, shortly after my tenth birthday, I became cheap labor for them around the farm. Well, I say cheap - unpaid would be a much better description. True, I had food and a bed: the food left over after they'd finished eating and a pile of straw atop the storage shed. It was a brief and unhappy childhood; not helped by the fact I was the only Dark Elf in the village.

I grew up being handy with my fists and feet and wasn't above using my teeth if push came to shove. And when half-a-dozen jeering children, all of whom are better fed and stronger than you, surround you; shove comes surprisingly quickly. I quickly garnered a reputation as a surly and aggressive child among the villagers. Not that I had much of a problem with that: my foster-parents did, however and I was regularly beaten for "starting another fight". Any attempt to explain that I'd been set upon by six or seven older, stronger children was conveniently ignored.

However, just so you don't think that it was completely bad, I did have a wonderful forest near the house and, when my foster-parents were away at temple, I could wander through them to my hearts content. It was about this time that I developed quite the interest in the properties of various flora. I soon found a root, common in the woods, the juice of which alleviated the sting of my frequent bruises. I never made much of the interest other than secretly trading useful bits of root and flower to passing traders in exchange for coin or, more frequently, a tattered old book. I took great care not to be seen with the books as I struggled to learn my letters - I knew that they'd end up on the fire and I'd end up being punished again if I was caught.

It was probably around my twelfth year that my Talent appeared. I began to notice strange auras around certain things and the feeling that I almost knew what they were for. As the days passed, I began to notice more of these quicksilver flashes and occasionally, when a Noble or Knight rode through the village, a strange tugging sensation if they passed close to me. Obviously not something I could discuss with my foster-parents, I chose to discuss it with a wandering peddler I'd dealt with before. In exchange for some plants and one of my miserly horded golden Drakes, he explained that I was born under the sign of the Apprentice and that what I was seeing was a manifestation of that astrological sign's influence on my life.

Over the next three years, my friend the peddler would come to visit. In return for my identifying magical items, he taught me a couple of useful cantrips. A fire-touch spell, a spell that allowed me to walk on water, and (my personal favorite) a spirit I could summon that would act as a guardian. In secret, I began marking the fifteenth of Sun's Height as my birthday.

I said that it was a short and bitter childhood, and the truth of that became apparent shortly after my fifteenth "birthday". My foster-mother was away visiting her mother - a woman I'd never met, but who was reputed to be insanely rich and insanely eccentric. One night, deep in his cups, my foster-father came up into the loft of the storage shed and attempted to... well, I probably don't need to draw you a diagram, do I? Needless to say, he got a fist in the face that broke his nose and a shovel across that back of the head that turned out his lights for a while. Gathering my few tattered clothes and the meager stash of Drakes I'd accumulated, I took a sack-full of provender from the larder, the best horse from the yard and, bidding a farewell to my hidden books, I set off in the general direction of away.

I figured that everyone would think I'd headed towards Rihad so that was the last direction I wanted. North lay Taneth and, beyond that, the wilds of Hammerfell. East lay the border with Cyrodiil, as it would if I headed south. Cyrodiil it was then and, angling roughly southeast, I rode off into the night. A few days later, hungry and dusty, I crossed into Sutch. There it became obvious that the supply of coin I had wouldn't last too long and so, with some reluctance, I sold my steed and blended into the crowds.

Over the course of the next ten years I drifted from town to town, never staying in one spot for long, making a passable living identifying useful plants or identifying ensorcelled items. Naturally, I picked up a few useful skills along the way: my years of chopping wood proved to be handy as I found I could wield a pretty mean axe and I taught myself the rudiments of fighting with a long-blade. I won't say I led a blameless existence, but I was no more of a thief, cutpurse, or mugger than anyone else of my station. Truth be told, I tried to avoid stealing things except when needs must: often I was the only Dark Elf in the town and knew that suspicion would fall on me pretty quickly.

So I drifted along, wandering from town to town with nary a care in the world. However, it was in one town that I happened to overhear a couple of Legion types asking about a Dark Elf named "Mishkin" who was wanted for assault and theft in Hammerfell. Heart pounding, I ran back to my hideout, collected my sparse belongings and got out of town pretty damn' sharply, I can tell you. In a panic, I made the cardinal mistake - isolating myself with no options. I hit Anvil running, and booked myself passage on the first ship to very far away from here. It virtually emptied my purse, but I got passage on a vessel sailing to a port near Rimmen. I knew nothing about the place except that it was in Elsweyr and it was very far away from Hammerfell. Sounded perfect.

The journey took a couple of months, and I was more than happy to step off the boat in the bustling port and blend once more into the crowds. Of course, I'd forgotten how quickly bad news could spread, how persistent the Empire is in punishing wrongdoers, and the spitefulness of my foster-parents. I'd travelled under the name of "Vahl" and used the first name "Sudhendra" if I had to - it was a name I'd read in a book at sometime and it struck me as being a pretty name, certainly better than Mishkin. There I was, in a foreign place, with no money and a false identity. That's when I made cardinal mistake number two.

My only excuse is that I was exhausted. I'd been running around trying to gather up some much needed coin and had pushed myself over the limit. I purchased a little bread and meat and sat in a pretty little park to eat my meal. Next thing I know, I'm being shaken awake by a burly guard who was being watched with some amusement by his three equally burly compatriots.

"You can't sleep here," he said. "What's your name?"

I told you I was tired, I automatically answered "Mishkin Dark-Skin".

"Says here you're Sudhendra Vahl and, wait, did you say Mishkin Dark-Skin?"

The four of them fell on me like a landslide, hitting me with their short wooden clubs before dragging me, battered and bruised, to the local lockup, where I spent a very uncomfortable night before being hauled before the local Imperial magistrate. The charges were ridiculous, to say the least: "Assault on a village Elder", "Theft of three hundred Drakes", "Theft of a prize stallion", "Assuming a false Identity", "Vagrancy". Oh, and my personal favorite, "Resisting arrest".

I might just have talked my way out of the first five charges but that resisting arrest one? That one was the clinching offence: the whole trial took under thirty minutes; I wasn't given a single chance to refute the charges or make a defense and found myself sentenced to ten years in the Imperial prison at Alabaster.

I'd been in prison for a year when things took a turn for the very strange. During my sentence, I'd been a good girl; following orders, staying out of trouble, that sort of thing. Unlikely though it was, there was a very remote chance I might get a reprieve if I showed that I was a model citizen. So, I bowed and scraped, cleaned out the latrines, washed, cooked, and did all the usual stuff they make you do in jail. In addition, I kept in shape as best as I could. Then, one night, the door to my cell slammed open and I was grabbed and dragged out into the courtyard. A cloaked and hooded figure looked at me from the dark recess of his hood and muttered something to the commandant. Next thing I knew I was being hustled into a coach and driven out of the prison. We stopped but once, and I was made to stand there while my original abductors drove off in the coach and another, plainer coach was brought in. The hooded figure turned to me and said something that sounded like "Somnus" and a sudden blackness descended.


	2. A Stranger In A Strange Place

A soft voice was whispering words I couldn't quite understand in my ear as I stood in a place flooded with a brilliant golden light. They seemed to hold a promise but, every time I tried to understand them, a strange sloshing noise filled my head. Try as hard as I might, I couldn't focus on the whisperer - the bright golden light blotted out everything. Suddenly, the world started to shake...

"Wake up," a masculine voice said as the dream shattered and fell away in glittering motes of light. "Wake up, you were dreaming. Wake up; it looks like we've arrived: I overheard a guard say we're docking in Morrowind."

"Not even last night's storm could wake you," the Dark Elf I shared this cramped space with said. Bleary-eyed I blinked at him, trying to figure out what in Stendarr's name was going on. "My name is Jiub," my companion said, helping me to my feet, "who are you?"

"Mishkin," I responded as I swayed on my feet. The Drake suddenly dropped and I realized that not all of the swaying could be accounted for by my debilitated condition. What was it the one-eyed Dark Elf had said? "Docking in Morrowind"? Yes, that's what he'd said, which meant we were aboard a ship.

"What do you mean, we're..." I started to ask.

"Shhh," he interrupted, "here comes a guard".

"You, prisoner 1356778," the guard said as he pointed a heavily mailed fist at me. "Follow me up on deck: keep quite, keep in step, and no funny business." Shrugging slightly at Jiub, I stood up and shuffled after the Imperial, my movements hampered by the heavy manacles around both my wrists and ankles. As the first guard stood watch, two more guards snapped to attention. One bolted the cell door while the other bent behind me and unfastened the chains around my ankles. With a jerk of his head, the first guard indicated I should follow him. Knowing that any other course was both futile and painful, I complied.

I followed the guard past the other (empty) holding cells onto the upper deck. Marching me to a set of stairs, he snapped, "Get up on deck prisoner. They'll send an escort for you."

Glad to be obliging, I scrambled up the steps and onto the deck. There, an elderly looking Redguard gestured towards the plank leading towards a jetty - at the bottom of which another Imperial Guard was waiting. "Make your way down to the docks prisoner," he said, not unkindly. "You'll be taken to processing and released."

The guard at the bottom of the plank looked up as I approached. "Are you Prisoner Number 1356778?" he asked. When I indicated that I was, indeed, Prisoner Number 1356778, he asked me if I was a Dunmer. I must have looked really confused, because he explained that Dark Elves weren't called Dark Elves in Morrowind, they were called Dunmer. Still queasy, I blinked at him and nodded: either he was blind, or he was stupid, and I wasn't in any fit state to deal with either condition.

"I'm sure you'll fit right in," he said enigmatically, before ordering me to follow him down to the quayside where I was to see Socucius Ergalla in the Customs and Excise Offices for "processing".

I stepped into the offices of the Imperial Bureau of Excise and Census, there to be greeted by an elderly Imperial in an ill-fitting robe. "I'm Socucius Ergalla," he said. "I have a few questions to ask you, then you can sign your papers and leave. Now, you are Sudhendra Vahl, a Dunmer from Hammerfell. Charged with various offences and sentenced to ten years in Alabaster Prison. Said sentence commuted to exile here on the island of Vvardenfell in the Imperial Province of Morrowind. Hmmm, the papers say that you go by the name of Mishkin Dark-Skin, I need to know your real name so that you can be officially entered into the records."

"Sudhendra Vahl," I blurted. I was anxious to leave any trace of my old life behind. Here was a chance to start anew, and I was going to seize it with both hands and never, ever let go.

"Sudhendra Vahl," he said, scribbling my name onto an official looking scroll. "What were the names of your parents?"

"I don't know," I replied, bluntly adding, "I never knew them".

"Uh-huh. And what star sign were you born under?"

"That of the Apprentice," I said.

He looked up sharply at that; muttering something that sounded like "interesting" before handing me two scrolls and saying, "check that all the details on here are correct, and make your mark at the bottom. I'll keep one; you take the other to the captain of the guard - Sellus Gravius. He'll give you your release money and any final instructions."

Release money sounded interesting; at least I wouldn't be starting my new life here penniless. Signing my papers with a flourish, I handed one copy back to Socucius Ergalla. The room's other occupant, a stiffly formal Imperial Guard, unlocked the heavy wooden door and ushered me through into the next room. Politely, I shut the door behind me. Directly in front of me lay a short corridor that terminated in a trio of steps down to another door while, off to my right, was a small chamber. Descending the stairs, I found that the door was unlocked, so I opened it. Inside was a small chamber, a sort of storage area I guess. A rough and stained pallet lay on the floor in an alcove - alongside it were five Hessian sacks and a couple of wooden barrels. There were bits of plant and strange aromatic herbs inside the sacks: thinking that I might manage to get a few Drakes for them, I took them all. The barrels contained a few items - mostly household stuff like jars and bottles. Two kegs, on stands, at the back of the room proved to be disappointingly empty. There was also a key on the bench, but it didn't fit into the lock on the trapdoor that led into a cellar (I guess).

Back up into the main chamber, where I examined the items on the table. A loaf of fresh bread, some silverware, a bottle of some local liquor, a candelabrum, a strange flaky meat I didn't recognize, a sheet of paper, a small note, a lock-pick, and a low quality iron dagger. I took the lot - feeling very happy now that I had some form of defense. (A girl should never walk around undefended). A nearby bench provided another sheet of paper and three loaves of fresh bread, all of which I "liberated" before turning my attention to the bookcase, munching on a hunk of bread as I did so.

There were a number of empty bottles, two earthenware jugs of some hooch, a number of plates and goblets, a strange and leathery egg, a copy of 'The Firmament', and a small locked wooden chest. After filching everything that I could, I turned my attention to the small chest. It took me a while to tease open the lock - despite my light-fingered approach to the contents of the Census offices, I'm not really a thief.

Consequently, it was hard work for me to open the chest, despite the cheap and battered lock. After several minutes of monotonous cursing on my part over the recalcitrant lock, it finally snapped open - just as the pick snapped in two. I managed to get the half of the lock-pick out of the cylinder before opening the chest. Inside was a stack of thirty-seven coins, which I cheerfully added to my purse. My final act was to check the two barrels by the door - they yielded up another couple of those leathery eggs, some strands of a dark dried jerky, and some more of that flaky yellow meat.

I opened the door and stepped into a small, enclosed courtyard. I took a deep breath, and then coughed as I caught the swampy stench of decaying vegetation and a flinty, acrid smell I didn't recognize. "Dibella's heliopauses," I cursed, "that's a real stink". I only hoped that I could get used to it (and that the whole island didn't smell quite as bad). Nevertheless, I gathered myself together and walked towards the entrance to another building. Beside the door was another barrel, which, naturally, I investigated. Inside was an ornate cube made of a metal I didn't recognize, a ring (which gave off an arcane glow), and another bottle. Shrugging, I took all of the items, despite the fact I was unable to identify the enchantment on the engraved ring for some reason. It was about then that I realized I had a problem.

So, this prisoner gets off the boat wearing only a pair of stained breeches, a pair of shoes so cheap they're practically made of waxed paper, a prison collar, and a tattered shirt. After signing her papers, said prisoner walks into the office of the Captain of the Guard laden down with silverware, food, books, and what-have-you. End result? Back off to prison with you Sudhendra Vahl - and this time no pardon or exile, stay there until you rot. Not exactly the most auspicious start to a new life my girl, no, not at all.

Julianos teaches that there are no problems that cannot be overcome if you stop and think about them or, at least, so I had read. Making a quick detour back into the storage room, I added a Hessian sack to my haul. Then I did something smarter; I added my haul to the Hessian sack and the Hessian sack to the rain barrel. Now unencumbered by anything that might get me thrown back into jail, I marched into Sellus Gravius' office like a good little prisoner.

Sellus Gravius was a gruff, self-important man clad in shiny Templar armor. He obviously had very little time for me, snapping, "Give me your papers" at me the instant I entered the room. He took a long time examining them before gruffly conceding, "These all seem to be in order. Come here."

Rather reluctantly, I went and stood in front of him, obligingly turning my back to him when he indicated that I should. I felt a hand brush my hair aside, and then there was a sharp "click". The heavy metal collar slipped from around my neck and I caught it instinctively. Then I dropped it like I'd just caught hold of a dead rat. Stepping wide around the nullity-collar, I gave it a very disdainful look. Now I knew why I'd been feeling so unwell since I'd woken up. I could feel the ebb and flow of arcane forces once more, and felt myself slowly recharging my magicka levels. "Here is your release fee," he continued, handing me a heavy leather pouch, "and here is a packet of documents that you have to deliver to Caius Cosades in Balmora."

"Your pardon sir," I said with feigned humility, "but where is Balmora, and how will I find this Caius Cosades?"

He made an annoyed sound as he turned back towards me. "Take a 'strider to Balmora, or walk - it's signposted well enough. As for finding him, I have no idea. I do know he frequents the South Wall Cornerclub. Try asking there." With that, he gave me a dismissive glance and turned back to the paperwork on his desk. With a shrug, and a rude gesture at his back, I went back into the courtyard and retrieved my sack. Looking at all the world as though I was doing nothing out of the ordinary, I marched back through the office of Sellus Gravius and out into a new world.

A broad, open area faced me, bordered on the sides with squat stone houses in a common Imperial style: namely rough-hewn stone blocks with a thatched roof. One of the buildings was taller than the rest, and had a wooden walkway around the side that could be reached by a flight of wooden steps. A stiff breeze blew in from behind me, dispelling the fetid odor with the tangy scent of the ocean. I turned to face it, realizing as I did that the prison ship I'd arrived on had already departed. I waited a while, but there was no sign of Jiub. Finally, I called over to the guard who'd escorted me from the ship, "Excuse me, but how long ago was it that you escorted the other prisoner into the office?"

"What other prisoner?" he asked, genuinely perplexed. "You were the only prisoner on the manifest to be disembarking here. The 'Arrow' is on its way to Falkreath and the Imperial prison there". Falkreath is a hellhole, well known throughout the Empire as one of the harshest of Imperial prisons. I was disappointed, I had hoped to be able to talk to the Dark Elf and get some information. Information such as how I'd got aboard, where we'd sailed from - stuff like that. Anything, really, to get some hint as to why my prison sentence had been commuted to exile in this... dump. With a sigh, I turned from the sea and promptly bumped into someone.

"Welcome to Seyda Neen," the little Bosmeri said, overriding my apologies. "My name's Fargoth and you must be the new exile. I hope the guards weren't too rough on you, that Sellus Gravius can be a nasty piece of work..."

"Sudhendra Vahl," I offered, extending a hand in greeting, hoping to cut the little Mer off before he got too annoying. He shook my hand, but carried on chattering away.

"...Sure he's the one responsible for all my problems. It seems that every day is 'annoy Fargoth day' for the guards. They watch my every move; roust me whenever they get the chance. Why, I'm sure it was them that stole my ring."

"Ring?" I queried, hoping to stop the flow of chatter.

"Yes," Fargoth replied, "a ring. Beautiful it was, gold and set with a small green stone. The gold was engraved with intricate designs. It's enchanted you know, belonged to my mother who, quite naturally, had a great many such rings. That ring is very precious to me..."

There are some people who will wonder why I did what I did next. Certainly it is common in every Province that "what you find, you keep". Digging into my pocket, I fetched out the engraved ring and showed it to the Bosmeri. "Would this be it?" I asked.

"Why yes," the annoying little Bosmer said, almost snatching it from my hand. "You know, you've done me a great favor, and I'm sure that you and I are going to be very close friends. I'll speak to Arrille and make sure he gives you a discount. He and I are very good friends you know. Why, only the other day, he was saying 'Fargoth, you're such a good friend to me'. And he always..."

And there you have the reason I acted so uncharacteristically. It's always been a policy of mine to get an 'in' with somebody in every new town I visit. They're the people who know where the best deals can be found, who to avoid, what the guard patrol patterns are like: in short, the sort of stuff that that you need to know. The fact that this squeaky-voiced little Wood Elf knew a decent trader was a bonus.

"Sorry," I said, fighting down an urge to smack the Wood Elf across the face. "I must get on." With that, I turned my back on him and walked away, leaving him standing there happily reminiscing to the empty space I'd been occupying. By the Divines, Bosmeri are such annoying little gits.

"I see you've had a run in with Fargoth," a male voice said. I turned, and found myself face to face with a dark-haired Man. He could have been Bretonian or Cyrodiil I was uncertain which. When he introduced himself as Vodunius Nuccius, I knew him for an Imperial. "I know this must be hard on you, exiled far from home, but it's not too bad here - well, it's actually pretty bad, appalling actually - but we pretend it isn't to keep ourselves from running, screaming, for the first ship away from here." I laughed, then extended a hand and introduced myself.

"Pleasure to meet you Sudhendra Vahl," he said. "Vahl, that's a very old name. I guess it's traditional Dunmeri although it's not one I've heard before. What?" he added with a smile, "you're surprised I said 'Dunmeri' instead of 'Dark Elf'?"

"I am," I admitted.

"Most folks around here tend to use Dunmeri to describe you people. It's only the ignorant," here he scowled at a passing guard, "or the deliberately rude who don't. Listen, I must be going but, if there's any help I can give you, don't hesitate to ask."

"Well, there are a couple of things," I admitted. "The guard captain mentioned something called a 'strider' that could get me to Balmora. And Fargoth mentioned someone named Arrille."

"Arrille runs the local Tradehouse, in fact, it's the only Tradehouse in Seyda Neen," he said, swiveling to point at the two-storey building I'd noticed earlier. "He's pretty much a general trader. There's a decent bar upstairs, run by a Yokudan named Elone, but no beds I'm sorry to say.

"'Strider is short for Silt-Strider; a unique form of indigenous transport." Taking my arm, he swiveled me around and pointed between two buildings. There I could see a massive creature standing up against some sort of ramp. It looked, for all the world, like a massive flea. "It's an insect that the locals use to transport people from one place to another. Another good thing is that it's pretty cheap too. Listen, tell them that Vodunius Nuccius sent you; they'll give you a little discount. "Now, I'm sorry, but I really must be going."

Thanking him profusely, I made my way towards Arielle's Tradehouse, climbing the short flight of steps and making my way around to the door, which, happily, looked seawards. Inside, an Altmeri introduced himself as Arrille, and asked if I had come to trade. I showed him the items I'd picked up in the Imperial Census buildings. He quickly sorted through them and, sliding the strange cubic object back across the desk to me, offered me five hundred and six Septims. "Why are you excluding this?" I asked, pointing at the device.

"Simple muthsera," he replied. "That is a Dwemer Time-Keeping Cube. I don't know where you got it, but trading in anything Dwemeric is against Imperial law. Besides," he added with a lopsided grin, "I couldn't afford it."

"I've heard of the Dwemer," I replied, "but I know very little about them. Nor do I have any idea what this is doing here."

"Well, I can help you very little with the first problem," he said. "I understand that the Mages Guild has several experts in the field of Dwemeric history: they might be able to assist you. As to how it came to be here," he continued, "that's simple. Vvardenfell is, or rather was, the home of the Dwemer. Now, is there anything else I can do for you? Weapons, armor, scrolls, potions, or spells; I have a pretty good stock here."

I browsed through his stock, eventually choosing a pretty decent saber, some light armor of local manufacture, and a fireball spell. I slipped on the greaves and cuirass over the top of my clothing, and strapped the saber to my belt. Thus armed and armored, I asked Arielle if he knew of any ventures that might earn a poor exile some money. "There's not an awful lot of anything in Seyda Neen, to be truthful," he said. "It's just a small fishing village that the Imperials use to dock ships that aren't heading around to Ebonheart. Although, I have heard that Hrisskar has a few monetary problems and is looking for some cash. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Dark Elf," a big voice boomed as I reached the top of the stairs. "I, Hrisskar Flat-Foot do greet you. Come, a drink I'll be buying our latest arrival to this dark isle Elone." The Nord, equally as big as his booming voice, enveloped me in a hug and guided me over to the bar where, with a sly grin on her face, a Redguard female that I assumed was Elone, poured out a small quantity of liquor into one glass before pouring a dark, frothing ale into a mug. My new companion slammed a couple of coins on the counter and then, barely giving me time to collect my drink, guided me over to a nearby table.

As I tentatively sipped the dark purple liquor, Hrisskar Flat-Foot lowered his voice to what he considered a conspiratorial whisper and asked, "Would it be some money you're looking to earn lassie?" when I indicated that I wouldn't be adverse to such a venture; he drew his chair closer and continued. "There be a Wood Elf name of Fargoth who owes two hundred Septims to Hrisskar. Yon rascal claims he has nae money, but I know that he tells an untruth there. If ye have a mind to it, I can tell you where and how you can recover the money. I take my two hundred, and ye will be having the rest."

I asked him to elaborate, and he outlined the plan. "Now, 'tis known that yon Fargoth does go creeping around late at night, although nobody knows for why. I figure that it's his money he visits. I be none too stealthy, and am much too well known to yon beastie tae be skulking around trying to find the gold he has stashed. So, what I propose tae ye is, get yourself up atop the lighthouse sometime after the sun, He has gone down. Frae there, ye'll have the perfect view of all a' Seyda Neen. Watch where he goes an' what he does. Speak ye not to him, afore or after, lest he suspect. And, in the Name of Emperor Zero, dinnae let the wee fool catch a sight of ye."

Common thievery was it? I doubted that Fargoth owed this Nord a single Drake and that Hrisskar was as flat-footed as his last name implied. This was the sort of thing Mishkin Dark-Skin would have done, I had to ask myself, was it the sort of thing that Sudhendra Vahl would get involved with? I would have to think long and hard on that before I made the decision.

I wandered over to the counter, where the Yokudan woman was grinning. "Got you doing a task for him has he?" she asked, not unkindly. "I'm Elone, by the way. You must be the person who came off the Arrow earlier. You do look a little lost."

"Very lost," I conceded as I returned her greeting in the traditional Redguard manner. "I have paperwork to take to somebody I've never heard of, in a town I have no clue where it is or how far away it is."

"We're here, in Seyda Neen," she said, dropping a well-drawn map on the counter. "This whole area up along this western coast is known as 'The Bitter Coast'. Now, where is it you've got to get too?"

"Balmora," I said looking at the insignificant dot that represented Seyda Neen. If I was reading the scale correctly, the island was about fifteen miles from north to south, and about ten miles across.

"Balmora is right here," she said, pointing to an icon representing a blue building. "That's on the banks of the River Odai, east of here in the area known as West Gash. It's a good day's walk away, through some pleasant countryside although you will have to pass through the Mamaea Gap and that's a little rough. Alternately, you could take a 'strider from here around to Balmora. That takes about eight hours and should cost about twenty Septims."

"Thank you," I said, pushing the map back towards her.

"No, you keep that," she said. "You'll probably need that and this," she added dropping a small golden stone on top of the parchment map. "Do you recognize it?"

"A locator stone," I said. "I'm sorry, but I really can't afford that."

"Nonsense," she replied, folding the map and handing it and the locator stone to me. "Consider it a welcome to Vvardenfell present." I thanked her profusely for her generosity, which she waved away. "Let me tell you a little secret," she said, "talk to everyone. Talk is free, and you can pick up some very useful information that way."

Bearing that in mind, I thanked Elone and circulated through the bar for a while - speaking to people about things they'd heard. I was told that the Empire had granted a mining concession in a place called Solstheim. When I asked about Solstheim, I was told it is a Nord controlled island a way to the north between Vvardenfell and Skyrim. The general consensus was that Solstheim is a frozen hellhole and nobody in their right mind would want to go there, despite the rumored deposits of Ebony. Another snipped I discovered is that, for the foolhardy, there is a boat service running from a place called Khuul to Fort Frostmoth on Solstheim.

Much more interesting was the chat I had with an Imperial Mage named Albecius Colollius. He was deep in his cups and it was hard to understand his slurred speech but, from what I could gather, he was looking for a powerful artifact known as The Mentor's Ring. According to him, some "fool" had lost it in a tomb somewhere along the Bitter Coast.

Another interesting snippet I heard was that the local tax collector had gone missing. From the generally smug tones, I guessed that the man wasn't overly popular amongst the local populace - something about ostentatiously displaying wealth while taking their money.

Having exhausted the topics of conversation, I made my way downstairs and left Arielle's Tradehouse for a breath of fresher air. Since the day was relatively pleasant, I decided to take a walk out of the village and look at the local countryside. Crossing the two bridges, I struck out to the west along a fairly well defined path. I'd gone but a short distance before I came upon a very familiar sight. A rounded building with a domed roof stood alongside the pathway, purple and gold banners displaying the device of Mara fluttering from the walls. In front of the door stood the traditional braziers; although I am a devotee of Stendarr, I was pleased to see a familiar institution here on Vvardenfell. It made it likely that there would be a Stendarrian Temple somewhere should I feel the need to make an offering.

The path wound onwards, curving around a noisome pool before descending into a steep fold. As I walked down the path, I fancied I could hear a noise.

The noise, a yodeling wailing sound, wasn't part of my imagination: it was definitely getting louder. Drawing my saber, I dropped into a combat stance as I scanned the area for what I presumed was an attacker. I could see nothing. Suddenly, there was a terrific crash in the treetop near me, accompanied by what - for all the Mundus - sounded like "ooofff". A book spun to the ground in front of me, followed a second later by the figure of a Man. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, and lay very still. Cautiously, I approached and, as I got nearer, I came to the realization that he was very, very dead indeed.

I knelt by the figure, which, for all the appalling force of the impact, was remarkably undamaged. The Man was wearing a pair of good quality shoes and a splendid blue robe. A small money pouch hung from one side of the belt while, from the other, hung a long-bladed sword that glistered with arcane force. His backpack, ruined beyond any hope of redemption, contained three tightly bound scrolls and had, at one time, obviously contained the book. The only thing that marred this picture of sartorial elegance was the fact that the Man was wearing one of those asinine Colovian fur hats: you know the ones, a cone of fabric with a furred trim around the bottom? This one was a remarkably ridiculous yellow.

Since the dead Man, whose name I discovered was Tarhiel, wouldn't be needing any of these things, I took the money, the sword, the robe, the scrolls and his journal - which I read as I continued walking. It seems that Tarhiel was a research-mage of sorts with a phobia about levitation spells and a miserly opinion of the Guild-Guides. To save money (and avoid having to levitate) he had concocted a cantrip for his own use - one which would fortify his ability to jump beyond all sane levels. The last entry in the journal virtually crowed about how brilliant he was and how, from atop the tallest tower in Ebonheart, he was going to prove that brilliance the following day before an adoring audience. I could, almost immediately, see the single flaw with his spell and it must have come as a very unpleasant surprise to him when he realized his error far too late.

Creating a spell that will lift you hundreds, if not thousands, of feet off the ground with a single bound is all very well and good. What he had neglected to consider was: what happens hundreds of feet above the ground when the spell wears off? Unless you have a cantrip of slow falling, or a levitation spell, or are some form of super Man, gravity will take a very sudden interest in you. I regarded the three scrolls with a jaundiced eye, resolving to sell them at the very first opportunity. Should I ever get back to civilization, that is.

So engrossed had I been in the journal, I'd sort of lost the track I'd been following. Steep black cliffs loomed on one side of me while, on the other side; the ground fell sharply away towards another of those fetid looking pools. In front of me, the ground rose quite sharply - at least giving me the hope that I would be able to spy out the lay of the land and figure out how to get back to Seyda Neen. What awaited me at the top was a rather more pleasant surprise.

The ground sloped quite sharply down towards a secluded cove, upon the shore of which the sea lapped gently. Trees and large rocks screened off much of the little bay from sight but I was sure that there was some sort of structure down there. As I descended, the shape resolved itself into a sort of tunnel set into the side of the hill. Made of an odd, sandy-colored stone, it had a rounded, oval shape, cut off at the bottom by a slab of grey-colored stone. As I moved around, I could finally see that there was a wooden door set at the back of the awning, old and slightly mossy. Next to the door was a column of inscribed characters that seemed to identify the place.

Samarys Card'ruhn was engraved inside the recessed cartouche. I had to dig deep to translate the local script into something I recognized. However, knowing that the engraving said "Samarys Card'ruhn" didn't help in the slightest since I had no idea what either Samarys or Card'ruhn actually meant. Only one way to find out I reasoned.

With a rusty creaking noise, the wooden door swung open. Beyond it, a short flight of stairs descended to a small area lit by a flickering light. As I got closer, I could see that there were two lamps set into the wall, one on either side of the door. It was puzzling; from the state of the door I would guess it had been a very long time since anyone had been down here - yet here were these two lamps, burning away merrily. They were comprised of a cylinder of a black tarry substance wrapped around a simple metal hook. Try as hard as I might, there didn't appear to be a way to extinguish them. Chalking this up as another one of those esoteric mysteries I'm unlikely to ever solve, I pushed open the door in front of me.

Well, either "Samarys" or "Card'ruhn" meant "Tomb" and, since the pottery urns on the dais nearest me were labeled up "Velendron Samarys" and "Tovale Samarys", my money was on Card'ruhn meaning tomb. Carefully, I lifted the top of the canoptic jar, peering inside. There was very little inside to indicate that this was the final resting place of one "Tovale Samarys", the urn being empty of everything except a small quantity of greyish-coloured powder. Opening my satchel, I looked inside at the supplies I had. Amongst them were a number of small phials with securely fastened lids - all empty of course. Working carefully, I scooped up the powder (which I recognized as Grave-Dust), and poured it into one of the vials. This done, I proceeded to check the contents of the other urns in this small part of the tomb. Most of them were empty, although I did find a small bone in one jar, and a small quantity of a greenish powder that I didn't immediately recognize. I took it anyway, knowing that many alchemists will pay quite high prices for any form of necrotic ingredient for their potions.

I got quite the shock as I rounded the corner into the next part of the tomb. A flickering specter that I immediately knew was a Guardian Ancestor noticed me and, skeletal hands awash with ethereal fire, it launched itself at me. Quickly drawing the sword I'd taken from the idiotic Tarhiel, I slashed at it frantically. There was an odd, tugging sensation as the blade passed right through the non-corporeal fiend. There was a smell of ozone, and a small but perfectly formed cloud sprang into being as twin bolts of arcane lightning lashed into the form of the ghost. Again and again I struck out at the spirit, determined to keep it as far away from me as possible. Most of the swings were wild - five years in an Imperial Prison doesn't give you the time to maintain your skills at their peak - but enough connected that I was holding my own. After one particularly vicious blow, there was a smell of putrefaction and, in a sparkle of dust motes, the ghost simply... ceased to be.

Panting heavily, I muttered to myself that being attacked like that was one stupid way to discover what the enchantment on a sword was. Quite handy though, I thought as I returned it to my belt. It is, at this juncture, that I should point out that I'm not much of a swords-woman, much preferring to use the axe as my primary weapon. I'd done a little sword-work over the past few years but I was anything but proficient with a long-bladed weapon. For the record, I have also used a bow - although I'm about as good with that as I am with a sword.

Anyway, a search of the area revealed nothing much of great value other than a scroll written in the local script. Careful translation revealed that it called on various arcane forces from the Realm of Ignis to incinerate whatever target the incantation was aimed at. Such a useful spell, so I decided that it would make a fine addition to my growing collection of items. If this kept up, I'd certainly need a scroll case and more alchemy collection equipment - not to mention a scabbard, quiver, and straps for an axe. It was becoming increasingly clear that adventuring wasn't a particularly cheap pastime. Perhaps I should have picked some other occupation to give to Socucius Ergalla; he might have aimed me at a steady, profitable occupation somewhere safe. Still, as I was about to discover, adventuring did have its rewards.

The final door yielded itself to my touch, opening into a small chamber at the end of which stood a single urn on a dais, alongside which was a rough wooden chest. The chest turned out to be locked. I don't know what prompted me to make the sign of the Serpent and mutter, "Ostendo Sum" near the urn, but I'm mightily glad I did. The revelation spell caused the outside of the canoptic urn to crawl with flickering ghost-fire - indicia of the trap that was ensorcelled into it. I had a probe with me, courtesy of those kind folk over at the Customs and Excise Offices, and I carefully used it to examine the jar. The focus of the trap seemed to be the inscribed metal band that joined lid to urn and it took me quite a while to disarm the bedeviled thing.

Popping off the top, I tipped the urn towards me to examine the contents. I laughed as I saw the jar was partially filled with flaky black ash. Resignedly, I started to return the jar to its upright position when a clump of ash shifted, revealing a glint of silver. Lifting the heavy jar down onto the floor, I plunged my arm inside and started to dig around in the ashes. It wasn't long before I had withdrawn the two items that had been hidden therein. The first was a brass key with a strangle design cut into the circular part at the top - something like a "B". This exactly matched the symbol cut into the cap of the lock on the chest. The other item was a ring, made of a silver metal that most definitely wasn't silver, set with a large purple-colored stone; engraved around the stone were the words "Scientia, Sapientia, Dominatus" or, if you prefer, "Knowledge, Wisdom, Mastery". So this, then, was The Mentor's Ring. With trembling fingers, I slipped the artifact onto my hand, gasping as strange purple light flared before my eyes. I could feel my reserves of magicka swelling as the constant effect enchantment took hold.

With renewed enthusiasm, I used the key to open the chest - only to find that whatever contents it had borne had long since rotted to mulch. With a heartfelt sigh, I grabbed my new belongings and, swinging the satchel over my shoulder, I stepped back outside into the salt laden air with a jaunty step. Before entering the tomb I had been hopelessly lost, now a quick glance at my map showed me an obvious solution. All I needed to do was follow the coastline around to the east and I would eventually fetch up in Seyda Neen.

It wasn't long before I could see the squat huts and buildings of Seyda Neen, but I discovered something else before I got there. It was the smell that caught my attention first, a smell I was familiar with - that of rotting flesh. Sure enough, sprawled between some large rocks, was a dead body. A couple of sleek and well-fed rats were in attendance, and I made sure to kill the damn' things before I investigated further. It was, as far as I could tell without getting too close and actually handling the body, a well-dressed Cyrodiilic male. Near the corpse (and thankfully upwind of it) lay an ornately decorated satchel. Dragging this away from the body, I squatted and examined the contents. The satchel contained a tightly rolled and official looking document that, on closer examination, turned out to be a tax-record for the inhabitants of Seyda Neen. It also contained a heavy purse that contained two hundred Septims in gold coin. I wasn't sure, but I'd be fairly willing to bet that this was Processus Vitellius, the missing tax collector.

And that was a worry, for two reasons. The first reason was that it hadn't been rats that had done for Vitellius, unless you mean the two-legged variety. Even the most cursory examination indicated that his throat had been cut. And, whoever had done the cutting hadn't been even vaguely interested in the large sum of money the tax-gatherer had gathered. Meaning it was a crime of revenge rather than one of robbery.

My other big problem was this: I hadn't been on the island for a day yet and I had two corpses on my hands. The first one, Tarhiel, I could pass off since his journal clearly showed what an idiot he was. This one, however, was a barbcat of a different stripe. Guards tend to be remarkably unimaginative, and would assume that dead body, plus a woman with money in her hands, equals murderess. It also hinted at the sheer lethality of this place, and gave me grave concerns about my own longevity.

I made my way back across the rickety bridge into Seyda Neen. There I very nervously reported my gruesome discovery to one of the guards, but he seemed supremely uninterested. He did, however, condescend to advise me to report it to Socucius Ergalla. I would do that fairly soon, but first I had a rendezvous atop the lighthouse. As I walked down the path towards it, a trader named Foryn Holyoak, who was selling backpacks, approached me. They were well made, and shimmered with the unmistakable sheen of a glamour: probably a feather-spell. Although such a thing would be very useful, I couldn't afford such a luxury at the moment.

Arielle had something much more useful, a spell called 'Hearth Heal'. Although I'd survived my various encounters to date, I hadn't come away unscathed. And a spell that could heal your injuries, that had to be the top of my shopping list for the moment. I cast the spell right there and then, sighing in contentment as the healing sparks settled into my skin - easing the cuts and bruises I'd accumulated.

It was quite pleasant atop the lighthouse - oddly, the lighthouse keeper didn't seem to object to me walking in and heading upstairs - what with the cool breeze blowing off the ocean and dissipating the smell of rotting vegetation. I passed the time playing with the Dwemeri device I'd picked up - the one Arrille had called a "time-piece". It didn't take me long to discover that I could get the device to speak the Hour of the day to me. It would also speak the Phases of Masser and Secundus, and it had a handy little light that I could turn on and off.

I waited, and waited, then - for a change - I waited some more.

Finally, at the Twentieth Hour, I spotted the little Bosmer creeping around the "square" of the village, clutching a lit torch. He pottered about for a while; presumably making sure that nobody was spying on him, before sneaking towards the lighthouse. Having convinced himself that he was unobserved, he made a beeline for a pool close to the rude huts along the water's edge. There he waded in and spent a while doing something at a tree stump that jutted from the pond. I guess that is where he hides his treasures.

Making sure I didn't get between him and the beacon atop the lighthouse, I made my way down to the ground and calmly walked over to the pond. Shucking off the blue robe and my boots, I rolled up the legs of my trousers before wading out there. The stump appeared, even on close examination, to be solid but I soon found the hollowed out hiding place, artfully hidden beneath the solitary branch. The soft leather pouch contained a lock pick, the same engraved ring I'd given him that very morn, and some three hundred Septims in cash. I was almost tempted to keep it all, but resolved that I would give Hrisskar his due on the morrow.

Having resumed an outward appearance of decency, I made my way back into the Customs and Excise offices where I spoke to Socucius Ergalla.

"Murdered you say?" he asked, eyes shining brightly as he stood looking at me. "Tell me, citizen, did he have anything on him when you found him? Paperwork, or anything?"

"He had what I assume are the local tax records," I said, setting the scroll down on his desk. Setting the purse down beside it, I added "he also had this purse, containing two hundred Septims."

"Interesting," he muttered. "Murdered and yet not robbed. Not a usual occurrence, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose not," I replied.

"You are to be commended on your honesty," he said, looking up from the scroll. "There is a bounty of five hundred Septims on anyone who kills an Imperial officer. If you can find out who was responsible, bring them to justice and I'll pay you the bounty."

I agreed to try and find the guilty party and asked for the records to assist in my investigation. He parted with them readily enough, and I left his office, shutting the door behind me. I had a good reason for this as, instead of heading outside, I made my way into the downstairs storage area and curled up on the pallet to get some sleep.

I awoke, rested and somewhat refreshed, just a little after the Sixth Hour. Donning my clothes - which I'd used as makeshift covers during the night - I made my way outside and over to Arielle's Tradehouse. There I got a meal of wonderfully aromatic conserve, a pat of unsalted Bretonian butter, and a loaf of freshly baked bread. I washed the whole lot down with a tisane made of a local berry called Comberry. As I ate my hearty breakfast, I studied the tax records closely. There were two interesting candidates - Arrille himself and somebody named Foryn Gilnith. Both had very high tax bills, although Arrille had paid his on the due date and this Gilnith's bill was unpaid and overdue.

Having completed my repast, I made my way downstairs where Arrille was serving another customer. "Fair day to you," I said to the Dunmeri woman who was cleaning the shelves that lined the side of the shop.

"Oh, fair day to you muthsera," she replied. "Can I help you?" I admitted that I was actually making small talk while I waited for Arrille to finish up with his customer. She didn't seem too offended, and we quickly fell to chatting. Tolvise, for that was her Given Name, told me many amusing stories of her family, including one about her cousin - a notorious drunkard - who claimed to have seen a city beneath the waves near the village of Gnaar Mok. Of course, he couldn't remember where exactly he'd seen this city, and nobody else had seen it. He became the laughing stock of the village and, not long thereafter, moved to Blacklight to escape the ridicule.

Arrille had, by now, finished dealing with his customer, and I spoke to him briefly before showing him the items I'd gathered since I last came in. He was particularly interested in the alchemical ingredients, and we quickly agreed on a price of three hundred and twenty-six Septims for the lot.

Having dealt with that, I made my way upstairs to where Hrisskar Flat-Foot was waiting. He seemed very pleased that I had found Fargoth's stash, and we retired to an isolated table. He quickly counted out two hundred Septims for himself, then slid the pouch back across to me, "the rest, is yours Ja?"

We got to talking, and he told me that there was a team of Imperial Seekers here on Vvardenfell. A Captain Terris out of Fort Moonmoth near Balmora was leading them, and the captain was looking for good fighters to assist in ridding the province of a number of members of a dark Orcish sect. That was interesting news - not because it was something that I wanted to get involved with, but because I knew that I should avoid any lone Orcish Knights.

"Are ye heading towards Suran?" a florid-faced man asked, just prior to introducing himself as Ruflod the Braggart. When I said I had no immediate plans to do so, he said that I must visit "The House of Earthly Delights" if I'm ever there. I'm not sure; it sounds suspiciously like one of those "Houses of Ill-Repute", if you catch my meaning.

When I got downstairs, Tanden Andralen told me that she knew there was something else she wanted to tell me. It seems that the local militia chased a necromancer out of a hut near the village. He managed to escape, but seems to have left a lot of his stuff behind and nobody, so far, has had the nerve to enter the hut and see what's there, it occurs to me that a visit there might be useful, before anyone else plucks up the courage to sack the place. Leaving Arielle's, I wandered out of the town a way until I came upon a doorway into a small series of caves. According to my map, the name of the place was Addamasartus.

Drawing my sword and preparing a spell, I pushed open the door and crept inside - if this were anything like the caverns on the mainland, there could be just about anything in here. There turned out to be less of an anything and more of a very annoyed Dunmeri female. I tried to explain that I meant no harm, but she was having none of it and attacked me, forcing me to defend myself. I seem to have forgotten less than I feared, because I was able to hold my own against the dagger-wielding woman with relative ease. The fight reached its gory conclusion when I slipped the blade past her defenses and drove it home into her chest. There was gout of blood, almost black in the lamplight, and she collapsed like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Breathing heavily, I ventured deeper into Addamasartus. There was a whooshing sound as a sphere of eldritch fire went past me, smacking into the wall near my head harmlessly. Even as I spotted the mage, he was preparing to cast again. In a panic, I raised my hands and made the Sigel of Ignis before chanting "Exuro meus Hostilis".

I distinctly heard him say, "Bugger, you weren't supposed to be able to cast sp..." The rest of what he was going to say was drowned out by his screams as the fireball engulfed him, filling the cavern with sooty smoke as it incinerated him in seconds. The shuriken-throwing female further back in the cave met a similar fate. I looked at the Mentor's ring with renewed respect; the spells had been far more powerful than they should have been and hadn't drained my reserves as much as they should have. I understood now why the ring was so coveted by every mage between here and the Golden Tower. I resolved to keep very quite about my possession of the ring.

I started exploring the caves by checking out the contents of the crates and barrel on the small wooden platform. Inside, I found several useful scrolls and a small quantity of alchemical ingredients. One of the packs contained a gritty, grey-white crystalline substance that I quickly realized was Moon-Sugar. I returned it to its original location with some dispatch: I certainly didn't want to be caught with any of that in my possession. I also found a crude iron key.

I pressed deeper into the cavern, sparing a cursory glance for the scorched remains of the blade-thrower. There was nothing on her corpse that I could use. A little further back, I found several more crates containing a small amount of coinage, a few more ingredients, a couple of cheaply made weapons, and some more Moon-Sugar. I also found a couple of phials of Skooma, a sort of "liquor" made by dissolving Moon-Sugar in alcohol and then distilling it: known as Khajiiti Beer, it was even more illegal than the raw material it was made from.

A small tunnel curved around deeper into the hillside, and I followed it. Having dispatched the rat that blocked my passage, I soon found myself wading in water - water that was getting progressively deeper. Not being a brilliant swimmer, I turned back and returned to the cave entrance. The only other thing of interest was a rickety ladder leading up to another platform. Hoping that there were more crates up there, I headed up.

No treasures, but three rather bedraggled Khajiiti slaves were all I found. The key I carried opened the locked door of their rough cell and, rather fortuitously, also opened the Slaver-Bracelets they wore. All three were deliriously happy at their rescue but really shouldn't have been. I only released them so that they wouldn't starve now that there were no smugglers in the cave to feed them. Making my way back to the cave entrance, I snuffed out the torch I was carrying and stepped outside into the warm sunshine.

As I left Addamasartus, I spotted a well-dressed Noble and two guards. They seemed to be looking for someone. On the off chance it was me they were looking for, I quickly put the large boulder between me and them as I made my way back into Seyda Neen. As I crossed the unstable little bridge, I noticed the unmistakable golden symbol of Dibella glinting on a tower southeast of town, past the silt-strider. That was good to know.

I'd been doing some thinking about the murder of the tax-gatherer. You see, the problem was it was now an official matter - and an official matter with my name attached. I knew exactly what was expected of me, I just wasn't happy about it. That's the big problem with Imperials: they like to get you into impossible-to-get-out-of situations. So, I spoke to several people about the murder of Processus Vitellius, and got pretty much the same reply from everybody. He wasn't liked (hardly surprising since he was the taxman for a small provincial town) and he wouldn't be missed. One lady, Darvame Hleran, did suggest that I speak with the lighthouse keeper: Thavere Vedrano. It seems that she and Processus Vitellius spent quite a bit of time together.

Darvame Hleran also mentioned that she didn't think Vodunius Nuccius was particularly happy on Vvardenfell. I approached him and spoke to him.

"I came here with high hopes," he admitted. "I wanted a life of adventure: expecting to find riches, fame, and love. Unfortunately I found none of them, and sleeping rough and fighting creatures isn't the fun I expected it to be. After five years, I have nothing to show for my time here except this..."

"This" turned out to be a silver ring with a small reddish colored stone. "It makes you run very, very fast," Vodunius said, "Unfortunately, it also drains your strength as it does so. I'd love to sell the cursed thing, but nobody will buy it."

"And what would you use the money for?" I asked.

"To get off this damn' island," he responded quickly. "I'd go to Ebonheart Port and get a boat to the mainland. Once there I'd head off to Silgrad Tower or Veranis Hall, both places I know well. And it'd only take a hundred Septims."

"Here," I said, reaching into my purse, "I'll buy your ring for one hundred Septims."

Vodunius' face lit up like a child's at Old Life. "You are my savior," he gasped. "If you ever get over to Silgrad or Veranis, look me up; I'll do whatever I can for you." With that, he blew me a kiss and hurried off towards the silt-strider, presumably to get to the Ebonheart Port place. Silently, I wished him luck, and then made my way up to the lighthouse.

Thavere was, understandably, quite upset when I delivered the news that her lover had been killed. As gently as I could, I questioned her on the circumstances in the village, and who might have had a problem with Processus.

"He wasn't a bad man," she sniffled, "despite what people say about him. He was always willing to give people more time to pay what was due, and he never raised his voice. Well, I only ever heard him raise it once, to Foryn Gilnith."

Well, wasn't that interesting? I thought as I made my way out of the lighthouse and sat on the wooden dock. Gilnith owed a lot of tax, tax that hadn't been paid. Recently, Gilnith and Vitellius argued over something - my guess would be about the amount of tax Gilnith owed. Then, all of a sudden, Processus Vitellius turns up dead, and in full possession of two hundred Septims. Methinks I should have a quiet word with this fisherman.

Pausing only to take the silver goblet and twenty-five Septims from the hollow stump next to the dock (I'd spotted them while musing on the case), I made an enquiry as to the location of Foryn Gilnith. He was, it turned out, in his hut near the sea.

"Yeah, I killed him," the wall-eyed and unpleasant fisherman said bluntly. "Him with his fancy clothes and jewelry brought from the money he stole from us hard-workin' folk. And his cavorting with that strumpet over at the lighthouse." Here he actually spat on the rush-covered floor. "Bloody disgusting it was. Deserved it he did, right and proper. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"Your presumption of his guilt doesn't alter the fact that you killed an Imperial official," I said, with rather more calm than I felt. "If you felt he was stealing, it should have been reported to the IRIS. Whether or not he deserved to die wasn't a decision you are empowered to make, and his guilt or otherwise doesn't alter the fact that you've committed a capital crime."

"You're another of 'em aren't you?" he snarled. "Another one who opens her legs to any Imperial who comes along..." and then he slapped me. Furious at the insult and the assault, I slammed my hand onto his chest and, with a good deal of relish, hissed, "Igneus manus". His eyes widened as the arcane fire caught hold, and he flailed at me in desperation. Before too long, however, he was in no state to do anything, and he collapsed onto the floor. As his skin started to turn to ash, and his moans became the soft cries of a dying man, I leaned over and whispered, "Never, ever, insult a magic-user unless you want to die in agony".

It was a lesson he learned well, albeit rather too late, I reflected as his body crumbled to ash and settled into an indefinable heap on the floor. I was still very annoyed and didn't trust myself to go out amongst the general populace. Besides, he had given me a couple of very hard blows, and I had some spectacular bruises. It seemed strangely fitting that I should spend the night in his hut.

Before I bedded down on his hammock, I quickly searched the hut. Unsurprisingly, there was little on any value - although I did find a very nice ring and thirty iron crossbow shafts tucked into a chest along with thirty Septims.

After breaking my fast by eating everything edible in Foryn Gilnith's hut, I made my way to the Customs and Excise building, where I reported what I'd done to Socucius Ergalla. He seemed pleased, pleased enough to pay me the five hundred Septims he'd promised me anyway. With the money safely tucked away, a pair of stout walking boots purchased from Arielle's Tradehouse, and a lovely clear sky overhead, I decided that a walk to the next town, Balmora, was in order. Skirting the Noble and his guards, I set off along the well-marked path.

The road wended its way up a short incline, and then meandered through a high walled canyon before descending again to a wide, grassy area. According to my map, this was the Ascadian Isles region. In front of me was a large pond, or very small lake at the far side of which was a broad sandbar separating this body of water from a much larger area of water. It was getting on a little, and I felt in need of something to eat. The sandbar looked an idyllic place to take a small break and a quick repast. The place might not have been as restful as it seemed - there were lots of scuffed footprints leading to a cavern entrance that dominated one end of the sandbar.

The runes scratched into the door said "Mannamu", and it turned out to be the residence of a number of bandits. Fortunately, they were well spaced out in the spacious cave-system and, using a combination of magic, summoning, thrown weapons and some up-close-and-nasty blade work, I was able to kill all of them. My efforts proved to have been very, very worthwhile.

There were a number of small, iron-banded chests that, once I'd forced them open, netted me several hundred Septims. In addition, I found quite a large number of scrolls and alchemical ingredients - as well as a remarkably fine wooden bow, some arrows and a rather ornate hand-axe. Further examination of the caverns that led off the main one revealed more alchemical ingredients and three large crystalline stones. Both were oddly colored - one being pale brown and the other two a pale pink - and completely transparent. It took me a while to realize what I had here, three genuine Ioun Stones. I'd seen these items on one of my visits to Cyrodiil, but knew no more about them than any Commoner would. There was supposed to be some way to use them that gave you magical powers but, because they are so difficult to make, their secrets are well guarded.

Scarcely believing my luck, I continued to investigate the cave, finding a number of ensorcelled charms, a few more scrolls, and a ring. I couldn't believe this: scarcely three days on the island and I'd found two powerful artifact-rings. For, what I held in my hand was no less a ring than the Battle-Band, an ancient ring of great power. However, it seems that the years had not been kind to it: there were setting for eight stones (Ametrines if I remember the Lore correctly) on the broad golden band, but all eight were missing. Even mutilated as it was, I felt the power of the ring's magic sweeping through me when I placed it on my finger.

I also found another Restoration Charm, twin to the one I'd found in Addamasartus. Grinning, I put them side by side: imagine, then, my surprise when the two metallic charms shimmered like quicksilver and ran together in the fashion of that rare metal, fusing with one another to make one single charm. I carefully probed the Charm and found that, whilst no more powerful than before, it now had twice the duration of the original item. I've seen some very odd things in my life, but that surely ranks as one of the oddest.

I made my way out of Mannamu and found, to my surprise, that a good deal more time had passed than I had thought. The sun was already westering, and it seemed unlikely that I'd make Balmora before nightfall. And, on a strange island such as this one? No way was I planning on walking in the dark - who knew what manner of afreets and shades might be abroad. Fortunately, across the road from the very spot I was standing, was a tomb. I deciphered the cartouche (Andrano Card'ruhn) to discover it was the Andrano Ancestral Tomb. Provided I ensured that all of its haunts were dealt with, it would make a sheltered and safe place to spend the night.

Inside the tomb, I had to deal with a couple of unfriendly spirits but - to my delight - I found that fire-based spells work extremely well against such specters. In a recess at the back of the tomb I found a skull (which had been inscribed with the rune X), a Chitin dagger with a very powerful cantrip on it, and a small stone chest. The ensorcelled dagger was etched with the runes indicating Divine (DIVINE) and Judgement (JUDGEMENT) in an esoteric version of Aldmeris that I could barely read. Obviously an artifact of some power, I took it for my own. Inside the unlocked box, I found a pale yellow Ioun Stone and another very powerful ring - this one the Element ward. Since this would perform a better role for me than the Battle-Band, I swapped the two rings. For some reason I can't fathom, I also picked up and packed away the skull. I know it was an odd thing to do, but something was telling me that I needed to do this.

The hard stone floor provided cold comfort, but it was better than sleeping outdoors. With that thought in mind, I drifted off into a fitful sleep. Feeling rather achy, and shaking off the residue of a disquieting nightmare that I couldn't quite recall, I left the tomb and gathered a few sticks together to light a fire. Warming myself, I took out one of my three remaining loaves of bread and a few strips of salted fish. After washing off the salt in the pool, I carefully threaded the fish onto some green twigs and propped them up over the fire until they were brown and sizzling. Having sated my hunger, I packed up my pack and, getting my bearings, headed off down the road towards Balmora.


	3. Climbing The Ranks

As I followed the road, I walked past a turning to a town - identified on the signpost as Pelagiad. Built in the Imperial-style, it seemed tranquilly agrarian: the ideal place to visit and explore. However, I wanted to get myself set up on the island and, the sooner I delivered this packet of documents to Balmora, the sooner I could make a start on doing that. Shrugging my shoulders to settle my pack, I turned my face away from the town and headed on down the road. Before I'd gone much further, I saw a large stone building set into the hillside. The silver and blue pennants fluttering from the top of the walls immediately identified it as a temple to Kynareth. That made sense, really - a temple devoted to the Lady of The Air near an Imperial settlement.

Just down the road a little way was a cave, the markings identified it as Ulumusa. Pushing open the door, and gripping my axe tightly, I ventured inside. It was a small cave, home to a large Nordic warrior and his female companion. The woman was fairly easy to beat - my first axe-blow cracked her ribs and she went down fairly easily after that. The Nord, however, was a totally different proposition. Armed with a massive Warhammer, which he swung with a great deal of dexterity, he was able to keep me far enough away from him that my axe was, effectively, useless. Shame then, that I had a backup plan. As he recovered from a swing, I dropped my axe, extended my hands and intoned, "Exuro meus Hostilis". He screamed as the fireball wrapped itself around him, staggering off towards the front of the cavern before collapsing in a smoking heap.

I found nothing of any great value in Ulumusa, with the exception of a silver bowl. Inscribed around the rim was the following: To Armond Beluelle, from the East Empire Company, for courage and daring in the protection of the Company's couriers, with our thanks. It was obviously an heirloom, and I packed it into my pack in the hopes that - one day - I'd be able to track down this Armond Beluelle.

As I stepped back out into the brilliant sunshine, I resolved that - under no circumstances - would I wander into a cave until after I'd been to Balmora. So far I'd been pretty damn' lucky but that big Nord had come uncomfortable close to cracking open my skull and I would, thank you very much, like to see my next birthday (and a fair few more after that); So then, no more caverns for a while. With that resolution firmly in mind, I set off along the road.

It was much later in the day, around the Twelfth Hour, when I arrived there. After passing an Imperial garrison, I walked down a valley until I came to an obelisk. Upon it, written in Daedric characters, was the name "Balmora". I crossed two little bridges that spanned a fairly energetic river and, giving the silt-strider a very wide berth, I entered the town. The architecture was strange but not unlovely: squat and curved buildings built of some grayish-green stone. A high wall, built of the same stone, encircled the city; although I did notice that there was no fee to enter the city, nor any form of city gate.

Shops lined the broad, open square that I found myself in - along with a couple of Guild Halls. I could see the Shield and Sword of the Fighter's Guild and the All-Seeing Eye of the Mages. Four other shops, flying banners I didn't recognise, also lined the square. One showed a strange animal bearing a pack and, on a whim, I entered. The shop was run by a Cathay-Raht by the name of Ra'Virr. It welcomed me cheerfully enough, and urged me to look at its collection of Daedric weapons.

When I looked, they proved to be standard weapons with a summoning enchantment. Ra'Virr didn't seem put out when I mentioned this, instead urging me to consider purchasing a tent. That seemed a far more useful deal and, after bartering a good deal of my stuff with the Khajiit, I left his shop with a tent and four Septims from my bartered goods, along with directions to the South Wall Cornerclub. One thing he said worried me.

"Ra'Virr hears that many people have seen an Orcish knight clad in strange armor near Hlormaren. Ra'Virr hears that this dark knight has killed many travelers." Strangely clad knights that go around killing unwary travelers are generally bad news - they have a tendency to belong to unsavory cults.

I crossed the river into Labor Town, the name given to the poorer district on the eastern side of the River Odai, and made my way back to the Cornerclub. Upstairs, a florid faced Man seemed extremely agitated when I asked where I could find Caius Cosades, but he calmed down when I told him I had a package to be delivered. "Cosades rents a bed-and-basket here in Labor Town. If you go back downstairs and out of the door, turn right and head up the stairs. Head left down the street and you'll find Caius Cosades' place right at the end, past the public forge."

Thanking Bacola Closcius, I then enquired about renting a room in the Cornerclub. After a bit of discussion, I agreed to take a small room on the first floor at a cost of forty-five Drakes for the next five nights. Taking the key, I ventured into the room. It was small but well lit, with a bed, table, and a small chest at the end of the bed. I quickly discovered that the room key also opened the chest. Unpacking a number of the items I'd gathered, I put them into the chest, locked it, locked my room and set out to speak to Caius Cosades. After all, all I had to do was deliver the package and then I was free to pursue my own career and make a life for myself here on Vvardenfell. Do you ever wonder if the Gods get a big laugh out of our certainty about what the future holds?

I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the squalid hole I met the elderly Imperial Caius Cosades in. Bare-chested, he stood in a room that was little larger than the one I'd rented at the Cornerclub; except that there were empty bottles and discarded clothes strewn about the floor and the bed was a ruin - looking as though the sleeper had been afflicted with violent nightmares. Over everything was a sickly sweet smell that permeated the room. As I stared at the chaotic environment, the elderly Imperial snapped, "You lost? Or is there something I can do for you?"

I looked into the bleary, red-rimmed eyes of the Imperial, asking, "Are you Caius Cosades?"

"I am, what of it young lady?" as he spoke, I saw something that caused me to revise my opinion of the man. Bleary and red-rimmed as his blue eyes were, there was a spark in them that spoke of a fierce intelligence. I got the feeling that there was very little this Man missed and I felt as though I'd just stepped into a room where, unaccountably, there was a very dangerous animal.

"I have this package for you," I replied, extending the wax-paper wrapped documents. Taking them from me, he looked at the (thankfully) unbroken seal, and asked me to wait while he read them through. Turning his back on me, he tore open the package and started to read while I stood there in uncomfortable silence. Finally, making a soft sound in his throat, he turned to look at me.

"You are Sudhendra Vahl," he said after studying me for a while. I kept quiet, simply nodding my head - I know a rhetorical question when I hear one. "Very well," he continued, "by order of the Emperor Uriel Septim the Seventh, I hereby induct you into the Blades with the rank of Novice."

I was stunned, the Blades are not even supposed to be real - a myth told in dark alleys where sedition was planned by paranoid minds. But, unless the old man was joking with me, they were all too real and I had managed to get myself entangled in their shadowy web. Somehow, I got the feeling that, whatever else he was, Caius Cosades was not big on practical jokes. What followed next was the most bewildering hour I've ever experienced: in that short time Caius Cosades gave me a list of other Blade operatives I could contact if the need arose, briefed me on the political and religious situation here in Morrowind Province, told me about the factions and guilds I could expect to encounter here on Vvardenfell, and generally scared the heck out of me with a tale of strange goings-on on the island. Finally, he gave me a deeply appraising look and said, "Here are two hundred Drakes, if I were you, I'd go out and get a bit of seasoning so I won't have to worry too much when I send you out on missions."

That stung, more than a little. True, I'd never been the adventurous sort and I was relatively unskilled in magic, and unarmed combat, and the finer points of using an axe (or any other weapon for that matter), and I had very little by way of backwoods survival skills, and... Seems as though the Man had a point. It didn't make his comment any less hurtful though. His advice was to "join a Guild or two, or do some freelance work", and then come back and see him when I felt ready to take orders from him.

"What if I'm never ready to serve the Emperor?" I thought as, my head reeling from the sudden load of new information I'd acquired I stepped outside. Still in something of a daze, I wandered down a nearby flight of stairs and found myself outside the Bank of Vvardenfell. On a sudden whim, I stepped inside and, with a very sheepish air, opened up a bank account for myself with five hundred Septims - a sizeable chunk of my current money but the very minimum they'd consider for opening an account.

The day, already very strange, took a sudden left-turn into downright weird. As I left the bank clutching my statement, a tall, cloaked Dunmer rushed up to me. "Salvor knows you, yes he does," he gasped excitedly, grabbing my sleeve. "Salvor knows you seek the clothing that belonged... to them!"

"Them who?" I asked, trying to shake off his grip. I have an instinctive distrust of any being other than a Khajiit that speaks of themselves in the third person - their stairs frequently fail to reach the top floor.

"THEM," he exclaimed, as though that explained anything. "The Alliance, the Silent Ten," he continued, "You seek their clothing. Yes, yes, Salvor knows you have the right to claim the Dunmeri clothing. Seek it, seek it and you'll find your destiny at the Dren Plantation and Venim Manor."

"Excuse me," a voice said as a heavily armored hand descended onto Salvor's shoulder, "but is this man bothering you Lady?" I've never been so happy to see a guard, even one clad in such strange armor, in my life.

Before either of us could do anything, Salvor had broken free of the guard's hold on him and scampered away towards a short alleyway. Stopping at the mouth of the alley, the Dunmer turned and yelled at us, "Salvor knows tall people. Be warned, Salvor knows some very tall people indeed." With that incomprehensible warning, he scooted off down the alley with the guard in hot pursuit.

I spent the rest of the day, such as it was, engaged in disposing of some of the items I'd gathered so far in my travels. As the sun set, three hundred and sixty-four Drakes richer than when I'd started, I returned to the South Wall Cornerclub and collapsed, exhausted, into bed.

"These agents, Alynu Aralen, Sathasa Nerothren, Fothyna Herothran, and Alveleg, are probably hiding in the hills to the north of the mine. Be wary Associate," Eydis warned, "they're sure to have posted a lookout."

I wondered what, or who, a 'Telvanni' is as I walked slowly around to the Guild of Mages. Once inside, I made my way down to the inevitable Guild-Guide who, for twelve Drakes, transported me to a town called Caldera, or as close to the mines as I could get.

Let me state, for the record, that I was immediately and completely shaken out of my depression by the realization of what I'd just done. I hate the teleportation service rather more than anything else in the Grey Maybe. That strange buzzing sensation as your body is ripped apart into tiny and unknowable particles, sent streaming through the Void to be reassembled in some other place, where you inevitably arrive with a deep and utter sense of confusion and the feeling that your stomach is travelling overland to catch up with you. I rarely use the service and have to fight down an overwhelming urge to check that I have the right number of everything, attached in all the proper places, every time that I do.

Scampering off the teleportation disk, I took several deep breaths to calm myself before looking around. The Guild-Guide looked at me with some amusement but said nothing: two elderly Dunmer stood at the other end of the room watching me - I guess to see if I'd suddenly implode, or something would drop off, or something. When nothing overly amusing happened, one of them gestured for me to join him.

"My name is Folms Mirel," he said, pleasantly enough. "I'm looking for someone to assist me in a little research. Would you be interested outlander?"

In response to my query as to what would be involved, he gave me a genuinely happy smile and said, "Many years ago, when this land was known as Resdayn, our ancestors built a series of forts. Using a technique that we're only just rediscovering, they created a number of chambers - known as Propylon Chambers - which could be used to travel from one fort to another.

"As you can imagine, such a technique would be extremely useful to understand. I've been studying the chambers for many years and believe I can create a Master Index: a key, if you will, that will allow travel between any of these Propylon Chambers. However, to do so, I need the individual Propylon Indexes. I am willing to pay five hundred Septims for each and every Index you can bring me."

"And where will I find these indexes?" I asked.

"Ah, that I can also help you with," Folms Mirel said happily. "The first one is right here in Caldera. It is the Hlormaren Index and is property of Irgola the Pawnbroker to be exact. Obtain it from him and bring it to me. I will pay you the agreed sum. And, while you're doing that, I'll research the location of the remaining Indexes. Agreed?"

It seemed a simple enough task, and we entered into an agreement. However, it would have to wait for a while - the day wasn't getting any younger and I had a nest of spies to locate. Folms Mirel was kind enough to provide me with accurate directions to the mine and, with a fairly light step; I headed out of the guild.

Caldera was a typical Imperial town, like Seyda Neen of Pelagiad, only more so. Officious looking guards stamped about in their armored finery while, around them, the ordinary citizens trod a wide berth as they undertook their daily tasks. I was at the northern end of an elongated square. The eastern side of the square was lined with a mixture of shops and housing. On the western side, dominating the town from its vantage point on the hill was a massive stone structure. Too grand to be a simple garrison or fort, it reminded me of the large Imperial residences so beloved of Nobles in Cyrodiil Province.

I shrugged. Standing gawping like a tourist wasn't getting the job done so, whistling a jaunty tune; I headed off into the wilderness.

My first indication that I was getting close was the arrow that zipped past my head. With a muffled curse, I dived behind a nearby rock and peered out. The next arrows sparked as it bounced skywards - it had impacted against my hideout and missed my head by a couple of inches. I did get a chance, however, to see a Bosmeri archer fitting another arrow into his bow. I was in somewhat of a difficult position: the archer could move around and get a clear shot at me while I was effectively pinned down.

Hmmm, if he wanted a clear shot, he'd have to move over there - towards the bridge. And that would bring him nicely into my line of fire. And fire it was too: as the Wood Elf darted into position, I extended my hands and chanted the words of my trusty fire-ball spell. There was a muffled scream as the fireball wrapped itself around the archer, but I wanted to waste no time. Leaping from concealment, I raced over and drove the point of my sword into the Bosmeri's throat, silencing him. The impact of the fireball had knocked the bow from his hand, and I appropriated it for my own use - after all, I couldn't be reliant on a sword all the time and a ranged weapon that didn't involve the expenditure of magicka would definitely come in handy. All I needed now were some arrows...

The other three spies were strung out in the Ashunammu caves, making them fairly easy targets for me to pick off one by one. Sticking to the shadows and using contact magic wherever possible, I made my way down inside the chambers and tunnels of the cave until I'd dealt with all of them. Not that I'd escape unscathed, thank you very much. One of them had been a little quicker on the uptake than the others and had managed to skewer me quite efficiently. Using strips torn from their clothing, I was able to make a passable dressing for the wound and the restore health potion quickly stopped the bleeding and closed up the lesion. I was, however, feeling a little woozy from blood loss and shock and desperately needed to get some rest and recuperation. The hammocks slung up in Ashunammu looked extremely inviting...

When I awoke, I sat up and surveyed my surroundings. Then I examined my wound - the rest and the potion had done wonders; there wasn't even a scar to show where I'd been stabbed. My resting period seemed to have wrought other changes too; my pack seemed lighter than it had the day before and I seemed much more energetic than I had for quite some time. (Indeed, as the day wore on, I realized I was getting fatigued less often).

A thorough search of Ashunammu revealed enough victuals to prepare a relatively acceptable meal but little else of any consequence: a few cheap weapons and a very small sum of golden coins. I took a couple of the weapons to sell on and a bundle of twenty steel-shafted arrows for my own use, but the majority of the stuff was far too bulky for me to be carrying around. Cutting across the hills, I followed a much more direct path back to Caldera.

After allowing a few moments for my stomach to walk from Caldera to Balmora, I stepped off the transportation dais and made my way up from the lower levels of the Mages Guild and over to the Guildhall. Eydis seemed very pleased that I'd dealt with the Telvanni agents and gave me four hundred Drakes as a reward. In addition to that, and more importantly as far as I was concerned, she also promoted me to the rank of Apprentice.

"I have another job for you, Sudhendra," she said. "This one requires a delicate touch. I need you to acquire a codebook from a lady named Sottilde, who can be found at the South Wall Cornerclub. I don't care what it takes, but my client must get that book."

It was pretty obvious that I couldn't go in, sword swinging. Firstly that would get me in far more trouble than any book was worth. Secondly, if I created a bloodbath in the South Wall Cornerclub, where would I use as a base of operations? I thought of several options as I walked over the bridge and to the club. It occurred to me that I have a fair bit of clink and that bribery often makes a suitable substitute for brute force.

"I really can't give you the book," Sottilde said for the third time as I casually placed another fifty Septims on the growing pile.

"I'm sure I'll be very grateful," I said softly, adding another hundred to the pile. With a quick, nervous look around, Sottilde made the money vanish and palmed the book to me. Placing it out of sight in my satchel, I took the time to speak to Sottilde, trying to set her at ease. It worked rather better than I expected. It turns out that the South Wall is the base of operations for the Thieves Guild in Balmora! She also intimated that, for a member in good standing, a bounty could be removed if one knew the right people to speak to and had some cash to cover the expenses. That was a tidbit that would be very handy - I didn't intend to get into trouble with the authorities, but it always pays to have a back up plan. Accordingly, I spoke to a Khajiiti named Sugar-Lips Hasabi. After a bit of back and forth, it agreed that I was eligible to join the Thieves Guild and gave me the charming sounding rank of Toad.

Let me stress that it wasn't my intention to do more with my membership in the Ancient Guild of Thieves than to have a backup plan in case I ran into a problem with the authorities. However, you know what they say about the best laid plans of Men and Mer, don't you?

Eydis was delighted and, for a fraction of a second, I was sure that I saw her smile. It might have been a sudden gas attack though. Nonetheless, she gave me fifty Septims as a payment for recovering the codebook - about a quarter of what I'd paid for it. And that phrase "recovering the codebook"? Hadn't she told me that it was for a client who needed access to the code used by the guild? So, what was all this about recovering it? I assumed that I'd misunderstood the original instructions given to me and left it at that. Eydis wasn't going to leave it at that, though. She had yet another task for me.

"There is a woman in Suran, name of Helviane Desele. She owes our client two hundred Drakes, and our client wants it recovered as quickly as possible."

"And you want me to go there and get it?" I interjected. She nodded tightly, so I said that I'd take the commission and headed on out of the Guildhouse. Desele? Where had I heard that name before?

Checking my map, I saw that it was a very long walk from here to Suran - much further than I'd be willing to walk today. However, according to the map, there was a silt-strider route between Balmora and Suran. I was slightly less than enthusiastic about riding what looked like a giant flea, especially when I found out that I'd actually be riding inside the creature. But it was either walk, or pay twenty-two Drakes and get there a lot quicker. Not really a contest. Right here and now, I'll say that - despite my reservations - the journey was delightful. I could see all of the scenery around me as we swayed from side to side in a particularly restful manner. In fact, it was only the fact that the journey was relatively quick that prevented me from going to sleep. All too soon, we arrived in Suran.

"Where can I find Helviane Desele?" I asked the Drover, and got a strange look in reply. Still, he did give me directions: down from the port and it's the first building on the right. The buildings in Suran were of the same construction and material as those in Balmora, so I guessed that whatever rules went there also went here.

I stopped outside the building, slightly worried by the red-paper lantern hanging over the doorway and the sign swinging in the breeze - Desele's House of Earthly Delights. It was about then that the Drake dropped, that drunken sot in Seyda Neen had said something about Desele's House of Earthly Delights in Suran, and how I should visit it if I was ever there. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside.

It took a few seconds for my eyes to get accustomed to the gloom; unfortunately my nose and ears didn't get that luxury. Three musicians were playing a thin, discordant tune (they certainly weren't worthy of the sobriquet 'Bard'): I recognized the drum that was beating out the erratic rhythm but the other two instruments were totally alien. And a sharp, sickly smell filled the atmosphere, vying with the smell of beer, brandy, and other less identifiable liquors. It was the same scent that had permeated the small room owned by Caius Cosades. Across the back wall were three raised platforms - in front of which stood half-a-dozen inebriated and wildly cheering Men. The reason for their cheers and catcalls was the three naked women - a Nord, a Redguard, and a Breton - that were swaying energetically to the 'tune' played by the musicians.

My next surprise was the two women behind the bar - or, more accurately, the woman and female Khajiiti behind the bar. Both were topless and seemed totally unconcerned by the ogling looks they were getting from their patrons. As I stood there, confused, one of the dancers stepped off her stage and sauntered into the crowd. Within seconds, she'd taken the arm of a large Nord and was leading him, still stark naked, up the stairs at the back of the room. I'm pretty certain a sum of money changed hands. Meanwhile, a thin Imperial female stepped out of an alcove and took the Redguard's place and started dancing. I'm not naive, and I knew exactly what was going on here but I was still shocked and confused that such a place would be so open about what it did.

And that wasn't my last surprise in this place either. That came when I addressed the Breton behind the bar - who I'd guessed was Helviane Desele - about the debt.

"What debt would that be Dunmer?" she fairly spat. As I tried to explain, she overrode me, saying, "That's just peachy that is. The Camorra Tong can't get their protection money out of me, so they send in their stooges the Fighter's Guild to do it for them. You want the "debt" paid? Pay it yourself."

Well, that put a bit of a crimp in my plans, Desele wouldn't pay the money, and in fact she point blank refused to even discuss it with me any more. I couldn't go wading in with sword and spell: that would only bring down the wrath of the local guards. Assuming, that is, I survived the wrath of the bar's patrons. If what she said was true, then I couldn't blame her for not wanting to pay protection money. Catching the eye of the Khajiit, I ordered myself a tisane and found a quiet corner to sit and think. After fighting off the advances of a few amorous, and very drunken, patrons, I spotted my chance when the Redguard came back down the stairs and stepped into the alcove.

"Might I ask you a few questions?" I said, sitting in a vacant chair near the alcove. Once I'd convinced her that I wasn't going to moralize, she agreed to speak with me. It turned out to be a very interesting conversation. Rumi told me that the Camorra Tong is the local equivalent of the Thieves Guild and that there is a great deal of animosity between the two. So much so, in fact, that most of the island's inhabitants are waiting for the inevitable war between them. Rumi also told me that it was fairly common knowledge that the Guild of Fighters is being paid by the Camorra Tong to strong-arm people who won't deal with them. She also intimated that there were rumors that there might be a deeper involvement between the Fighters Guild and the Camorra Tong - although she was unwilling to tell me what they were.

I also gathered a few other interesting things to ponder on as I made my way back to Balmora. Rumi had told me of a strange Orcish knight near a place called 'The Shrine of Kummu'. He'd attacked some travelers, and I wondered if this was the same knight that was supposed to be roaming the Bitter Coast, or another one. If it was another one, it meant that there were probably quite a few more than just two. Something else she told me was that there was an Orcish knight to the south of Suran. Only this one had been there for quite a lot longer than the red-armored knight near the shrine. She described him as a 'madman' - which didn't fill me with much confidence.

I returned to the South Wall and went to my room, where I sat on the bed for quite a long time. I wasn't happy about the connection between the Camorra Tong and the Fighter's Guild - this was just the sort of thing that got people trapped into choosing one side or another. And that sort of grief I really didn't need. I also regretted my hasty decision to enter into partnership with the Guild of Thieves. Again, if they were getting set for a battle against the local thieves, they'd expect me to step in on their behalf. More grief I didn't need. Pleasant though my life was becoming as I settled down in Balmora, I could see that there was trouble ahead - the sort of trouble that got people dead, or very powerful and important people well pissed off at you. The time might be fast approaching when relocation could be in order. I resolved to think about that later.

The following morning I was up bright and early, selling off some stuff to raise two hundred Septims for Helviane Desele: a couple of scrolls I didn't think I'd need, a tattered copy of 'The Alchemist's Formulary'; and a couple of iron swords. All in all, I managed to raise two hundred and seventeen Septims with my various sales. Marching into the Guildhall, I went up to Eydis Fire-Eye and dropped the money contemptuously onto the table, "there's your debt money" I said, making sure she could hear the quotation marks around the word "debt".

"And that's your share," she replied obliviously, separating out twenty five-Septim pieces and sliding them back across the table to me. "Now, if you're at all interested, I have a bounty that needs to be collected. The person is here in Balmora, in a house across the river. You can't mistake the house, it's the only one with a tower, and the bounty is two hundred and fifty Septims."

"And what's the catch?" I asked quizzically.

"Ah, well, the bounty is on one Dura gra-Bol."

"Oh great," I muttered as I gathered up the necessary papers. "A bleeding Orc."

I've met a few Orcs in the past, and a more dour and taciturn race of people you're unlikely to meet on the face of Nirn. They have some very strange ideas and even stranger religious practices, and almost no sense of humor whatsoever. In fact, the only reason you find so many of them throughout the Empire is that they are superbly skilled warriors. And therein lay the nub of my problem: this Dura gra-Bol would probably outweigh me by several hundred pounds and be skilled in more weapons techniques than I even knew existed. Damn', time for me to be sneaky.

I paid a visit to the local alchemist, a rather snooty High Elf by the name of Nelcarya. For a sizeable financial consideration, she provided me with two phials. One contained a potent potion that would make me blend into the background for a while. The other a particularly vile poison called Spike. Nasty stuff, it caused partial blindness and paralysis. Making sure I was unobserved, I poured the venom onto the blade of my old iron sword before crossing the river and entering gra-Bol's house. The instant I shut the door, I uncapped the chameleon potion and drank deeply.

"Who there?" the huge Orc rumbled as it thundered down the stairs, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. As soon as it had its back to me, I stabbed it hard and deep with the sword. It let out a fearsome yell and whirled around, waving its hand back and forth through the space I'd been occupying. The reason it didn't find me was that I'd ducked and sprinted up a few stairs the instant I'd driven the blade into the Orc's muscular shoulder.

"Gone kill you very dead," it rumbled slowly. "Don't know you who, but you dead soon." I seriously doubted that: the Orc's voice was starting to slur and its movements were slowing down. In addition, it was blinking its eyes and peering around in a manner that indicated it was having difficulty seeing. Now, before my potion wore off, was the time to strike.

I stood there panting, looking down at the corpse of the slowly cooling Orc, the Spike-envenomed blade jutting from its chest where I'd planted it a few moments before. Even with the poison coursing through its veins, it had been one hell of a fighter. As I thought back on the frantic exchange of blows, my knees buckled and I sank to the floor in a state of exhaustion - ignoring the hammering on the door.

"Minute," I managed to gasp as the hammering became a positive fusillade of blows. Dragging myself wearily to my feet, I opened the door to discover two very aggrieved looking guards. I handed them the bounty paperwork, which made them look slightly less unhappy. Before they dragged the body away, I quickly stripped it of the axe it carried and helped myself to the fifty Septims in its purse. Leaving them to struggle as they took it away, I closed the door behind them as quickly as I could. I was starting to recover, and an intriguing idea had just crossed through my mind.

Even though I was contemplating leaving Balmora for less politically charged climes, I might need a base of operations until I got settled somewhere. I knew Balmora, I knew its alleyways and shops, and the town was well connected for travel. Unless I intended to pay for a room at whatever inn happened to be nearby whenever I wished to rest, a permanent location would be ideal. And, lo and behold, here was a perfectly serviceable residence. If I couldn't find a key for the front door, I could always ward the place until I could get the lock replaced. It made sense on so many levels.

A quick search of the place revealed its few charms. There was a bed in a small alcove downstairs, by the stairs. A small table stood near the head of the bed while, at the other end, stood a rough wooden chest. It was inside this chest that I found some clothing that had belonged to Dura gra-Bol, seventy-five Septims, and a key to the front door. On the other side of the stairs was another alcove: into here was crammed a large chest of drawers and a roughly crafted, but functional, set of shelves. Up the stairs, and there was a door that led out onto a balcony type thing overlooking the Odai. Another two short flights of stairs led up to a storage area, containing two large crates, several wooden barrels, and a couple of wicker baskets with lids. It was never going to win an award for being an ideal home, but it had plenty of storage and a place to sleep: what more could a girl ask for?

I spent an hour, or so, moving my stuff out of the South Wall Cornerclub and into my new residence before making my way to the Fighters Guildhall. Eydis paid me the bounty on Dura gra-Bol, and then promoted me to the rank of Journeyman. Then she dropped the hammer: she had no more work for me. Rather dismissively, she suggested that I speak with the Guild Stewards in Ald'ruhn, Sadrith Mora, or Vivec City. Actually, that was fine by me, so not into having to deal with the Camorra Tong problem within the Guild. I wondered if any of the other members (there are usually a couple of Guild members in the Guildhouse at any one time) could give me some hints. Obviously, asking Eydis Fire-Eye was out of the question.

I finally found just the person I wanted, a trainer by the name of Hasphat Antabolis. His suggestion was carefully couched, but it was pretty plain that he knew what was happening in the guild and, more importantly, wasn't too happy about it.

"Yeah, sure, I can make a recommendation," he said when I asked him. "Try Hrundi in Sadrith Mora, or Percius Mercius over in Ald'ruhn. They're good people, if you know what I mean?" I knew exactly what he meant or, at least, I thought I did. Thanking him profusely, I made my way out of the Guildhall.

Before I went anywhere, I had a little trading to do. Returning to Dura's house, I collected together some items and went to town. The excess weaponry I'd collected fetched four hundred and forty-one Septims from the Bosmeri weapons-dealer Meldor. And the oversize clothing that had belonged to Dura gra-Bol? That fetched me one hundred and sixteen Septims from a general merchant named Clagius Clanler. With quite a bit of clink in my pocket, I went to the Mages Guildhouse and had myself sent to Ald'ruhn.

After my stomach had caught up with me, I wandered down the halls of the Guildhouse; nodding to the people I passed. This place seemed a trifle busier than the Mages Guild in Balmora. I was in for a real treat.

"Interested in translocation spells?" a tall, stately woman asked. "I have several pre-keyed translocation spells for sale." I wondered if these were that same things as the Void-Walk spells I knew about from the mainland. A few questions quickly confirmed that they were. Void-Walk spells were great things, especially the ones with a predetermined location on them. They cost next to no magicka to cast, never fail when you need them, in fact the only downside was that they were very, very expensive. I explained to Delas Mrania that I was interested, but couldn't possibly afford one.

"Oh, but these are very cheap muthsera," she protested. "Since there are only a few locations on Vvardenfell, the spells aren't that difficult to learn and I can sell them to you quite cheaply. How does a thousand and fifty Septims sound?"

It sounded very interesting. I'd discovered that bartering never harms your cause: you can usually sneak a few extra Drakes onto the cost of what you're selling, or off what you're buying. After dickering for a while, we settled on a price of a thousand and fourteen Septims for a translocation spell that would send me to Balmora. Now I had the wherewithal to return to my adopted residence from anywhere on the island, at any time I wished to do so.

"Are you Percius Mercius?" I asked the squat and muscular Imperial I found in the lower level of the strange shell that passed for buildings in Ald'ruhn. "Hasphat Antabolis suggested that I should speak to you." And speak we did, of many things. Firstly, Mercius told me that he had no tasks suitable for a Journeyman, and then we started to talk about the Guild I'd affiliated myself with. It turns out that Percius Mercius used to be the Chief Steward of the Fighters Guild, but not any longer. His place had been usurped by Sjorring Hard-Heart and, according to Mercius at least, the Nord had been issuing some very odd orders and taking the Guild in some very unusual directions of late. Although he didn't come right out and say it, I guessed that Percius Mercius was referring to the Camorra Tong situation.

He also mentioned that some travelers had seen a dark Orcish knight east of a fort named Berandas. From what he's been able to gather, this knight is spying on a town called Gnisis. Okay, I could accept one knight travelling between this Shrine of Kummu place and the Bitter Coast: but this third sighting meant that there was definitely more than one of them. His last comment was by way of a piece of advice - he suggested that I go to Sadrith Mora and speak to Hrundi in the Guildhouse in Wolverine Hall. He was, according to the Imperial, a good man who knows the value of the old traditions of the Guild.

I crossed the dusty track that passed for a road in Ald'ruhn and once more gave myself to the tender mercies of the Mages Guild's Guide service: allowing them to transport me to this Wolverine Hall place. I've been in a number of Mages Guildhalls and, even in separate provinces; they all shared one thing in common. And that is a certain sense of opulence: Balmora had it and even dusty Ald'ruhn had it. But not here, here the Mages Guildhall seemed to consist of one very crowded room in the Imperial style. That was distinctly odd. What was even odder was that when I left the Mages Guild there was a small Imperial shrine on the same floor and, one floor down, the Fighters Guildhall occupied another small area.

I mentioned this to Hrundi, the Guild Steward: a tall and impressively tattooed Nord clad in studded leather armor. "Aye," he said, shaking his head. "'Tis an unusual situation all right, however, Sadrith Mora is a fairly unique place an' we're only just tolerated here lassie - an' only that provided we stick to the rules."

It was then that I learned that Caius Cosades' briefing hadn't been as exhaustive as I'd imagined. For a start, he'd mentioned the Great Houses that ruled Morrowind province and named them: Hlaalu, Redoran, Indoril, and Dres. He hadn't said a single thing about Great House Telvanni and Hrundi quickly filled in the gaps in my knowledge.

"The Telvanni Mage-Lords pretty much rule in this corner o' the Province. They're canny, wise, awful dangerous to cross, live well nigh forever, and hate foreigners wi' a passion: us Imperial 'invaders' most a' all. We live under a wee set o' fairly restrictive rules: provided we stay in Wolverine Hall and dinnae mess wi' them, they dinnae mess wi' us."

So that was what 'Telvanni' were: xenophobic Mages with incredible life spans. And to think, I'd come over this side of the island to get away from the dangers of West Gash. Listening to Hrundi, it soon became apparent that what he knew was hearsay: none of it came from firsthand experience. As he explained, he'd arrived at Wolverine Hall six years ago and had been into Sadrith Mora precisely six times - although he said that it would be an experience for me to do so. I wondered uneasily what he meant by that. Naturally, our conversation turned to my budding career in the Fighters Guild.

"I have a wee job for you lassie," Hrundi said. "It's not one I'd normally give to a Journeyman, but it's very important an' the only one I have available. I need ye to go to a place called Nchurdamz: a Dwemer ruin way down the coast from here. There you'll need tae find a lassie named Larienna Macrina and give her any assistance she needs."

"Larienna Macrina?" I asked. "An Imperial?"

"Aye," he said, "a Knight Errand o' the Legion. D'ye have a problem wi' that?"

"Not really," I said with a sigh. "I'm just not a big fan of the Legion, or Imperials for that matter." And that was understating it. I wanted nothing to do with the Legions, or Imperials in general. So far, every bad thing in my life that had happened had an Imperial involved. And it had been the Legion's town guards that had beaten me so enthusiastically and got me consigned to prison. They were so not my favorite people. Still, needs must, and I told Hrundi that I accepted the job. He suggested that I go to the Mages Guild and get myself sent to Vivec City and, from there, get a boat to a place called Molag Mar. It was a fairly brisk walk from there to the ruins.

I took his advice, first taking the Guild guide service to Vivec City (a place I really must explore thoroughly one of these days) and getting a boat to Molag Mar. Molag Mar turned out to be a miniature Vivec City at the end of a small inlet: posed between the lushness of the Ascadian Isles and the desolation of the Molag Amur. Unfortunately for me, it was into the desolation of the Molag Amur that I now had to head. Pausing to buy a wrap to go around my mouth (a fashion I'd seen in Ald'ruhn and which now made sense to me), I set off.

There's little to report of my journey through the afternoon, except for one thing. During the late part of the afternoon, before I pitched my tent, I came to the top of a rocky ridge. The path went on a short way before splitting: one branch headed off in the direction I wanted, the other headed towards a large collection of cyclopean buildings. There were each constructed, as far as I could tell, from a single piece of a dark purplish stone that had been hewn as though by a gigantic axe. Tall towers with strange devices on top, tall and harshly hewed walls, bizarre circular buildings supporting domed roofs on thick pillars. The whole thing made me giddy - not a one of the angles seemed to be normal, and there were thick pools of shadow where there should have been sunshine. Even more disconcerting were the aura of extreme age and the intense feeling of coldness I got from the place. I was glad the path I needed led away from the place, I had no desire to go any closer than I already was.

I headed off at speed, spurred on by the feeling that I was being observed by a vast and alien intelligence that wasn't particularly friendly. So intense was the feeling that I soon found myself running pell-mell down the path until, fair exhausted, I collapsed by the side of the road. It was getting dark and I felt I had put enough distance betwixt me and that damnably distressing building for me to be able to rest easily. A little way off the path was a small rocky hollow, and it was here that I pitched my tent and made camp for the night.

I won't pretend that I had a pleasant night: that building featured in a nightmare that woke me in the misty pre-dawn hours, damp with sweat. Quite what the nightmare was I couldn't recall, but I did have a fleeting recollection of running down bizarrely angled corridors away from some indefinable danger. Things weren't helped by the discovery of a set of oddly shaped footprints in the dewy grass outside my tent - footprints that started and stopped in the middle of the damp patch without any visible connecting footprints. Perhaps I'd been overly optimistic when I thought that I was far enough away from the building...

As you can imagine, it didn't take me long to pack my belongings away and move on a step, which was a good thing really since I'd covered a very little distance before I saw the unmistakable towers of a Dwemer ruin. Unslinging my axe from my pack, I made my way up the slope towards them, quite excited. I'd only been close to a Dwemer building once before, up in Hammerfell, and that had been very enthusiastically guarded by the Legion. Now I was about to get far closer to one than most members of the Empire ever do. (The Empire tends to be a little obsessive about these ruins for reasons that escape the general populace).

Anyway, there was quite a brisk fire burning near the ruin, and a tall, white-haired woman sat beside it - evidently cooking something with which to break her fast. "Ahoy the fires," I called politely, "are you Larienna Macrina?"

"I am," she said, surging to her feet and grasping the hilt of her sword. "Who wishes to know?"

"I am Journeyman Sudhendra Vahl," I called back. "Hrundi, of the Sadrith Mora Fighters Guild asked that I should join you."

"You made good time," she said, visibly relaxing. "Come, join me in a bite to eat and I'll tell you why we're here."

Larienna had made a thick pottage of some unidentifiable meat and local vegetables, and she gave me a very generous portion in a hefty ceramic bowl. My contribution was two loaves of bread (slightly stale I'm sorry to relate) and some Comberry tisane that I reheated. As we tucked into this substantial repast, the Knight Errand told me of her mission.

"We're here in search of the great beast known as Hrelvesuu," she said. "It has attacked several travelers in this area and I was dispatched, along with two Troopers, to track it down and deal with it." She fetched a sigh, and then continued, "It attacked us from ambush near Almurbalarammi, killing my compatriots before fleeing here. I sent for help, and then followed it. It's trapped inside, but I need someone to watch my back while I scour the ruins for it.

"That's where you come in," she said, adding, "I'd hoped for someone with more experience, meaning no offence, but I'm sure we'll make an excellent team. Oh, and by the by, I have some skill in restorative magic and so can heal you at need. Remember, however, I'm no Cleric and casting the spell will weaken me. Well, are you ready?"

Not even in the slightest, I thought as I once more unslung my axe. However, the only way to avoid stinging remarks like 'I was hoping for someone with more experience' is to actually get out there and get the experience. Nodding to her, I led the way to the strange circular portal then evidently led into the building. She stepped forward and pressed several of the carvings on the door, causing it to dilate open with a thunderous crashing noise. Although I'd feigned disinterested, I'd made careful note of how she'd opened the door - just in case I needed to open one for myself.

There was a puff of slightly stale air as the door opened, but nothing untoward happened. Pausing, I put my hand on my axe and chanted, "Sino exsisto lux lucis", causing my axe to glimmer with an eldritch light. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing as, with more than a little trepidation, I led the way down the metal steps into the ruins of Nchurdamz.

I barely had time to see that we'd stepped into a cavernous and well lit room before we were attacked by a strange creature - which was quickly reinforced by a couple of others. It looked like an oval on six legs but, as my axe hammered into it; it made a distinctly metallic sound. The creature wobbled slightly, but continued to rear up on its back two legs and slash at me with the front two. My axe clove into it for a second time, and there was a distinct spark and quite a loud bang as the thing bounced sideways and crashed into the wall. Its legs quivered oddly for a moment, and then it lay still.

Larienna Macrina had dealt with one of the other spider-creatures and, together, we turned on the last. As Larienna's sword pushed the thing to one side, it met the flat sweep of my axe coming hard from the other. Again there was a loud "popping" noise and a flash of light - this time accompanied by a very disagreeable smell. "'Ware behind," the soldier called, pivoting to face something behind me. I dived forward, hearing the unpleasant hiss of displaced air as a blade slashed through the spot I'd been standing in. Rolling, I came to my feet...

Larienna was hacking frantically at a golden-colored ball that seemed to be moving of its own volition. Reading my axe, I stepped in: just as the ball split along the seams. As it opened like some strange flower, a metallic "head" and "torso" rose from the sphere. It had no "hands", one arm ended on a strange confusion of metal parts and the other arm ended in a flat, circular shield. This it used to shove Larienna out of the way, the other arm slashing out as a blade somehow grew from the odd collection of metal at the end. Seeing that it was momentarily occupied, I reared back and hit the thing as hard as I could with my axe.

It pivoted on its base with frightening speed and, even though I could discern nothing that remotely looked like a pair of eyes, I got the distinct impression it was looking at me. That was when Larienna's flat-bladed gladius cracked against its torso. As it started to turn towards her, I swung my axe in a flat and deadly arc. Metal crumpled and the head sprang off the neck and crashed to the floor a few paces away. The device spun erratically on the spot for a second or two, then seemed to deflate: like an inflated pig-bladder that's been punctured.

"What," I panted, "the hell was that?"

"The Empire calls them 'animalcules'," Larienna replied as I stepped up to examine one of the spider things. "Those are 'Type I'," she continued, before gesturing to the cracked and broken sphere, "and that's a 'Type II'."

"How many types are there?" I asked, scraping up a thick goo that had leaked from the animalcule into one of my collection phials.

"The Empire has identified three types," she replied. "There seem to be more Type Ones in the ruins in Vvardenfell than anything else. You sometimes get several Type Twos; the third Type is quite a bit rarer."

"Would it look something like a heavily armored Man carrying a big club?" I asked warily.

"Exactly like..." she paused, seeing my eyes widen."Oh." The club proved to be very hard indeed, studded metal in a sphere that was extended in the same way as the blade on the Type II animalcule. I can attest to the force it hits with, even through my armor, I felt a rib (or two) crack. Hauling the iron dagger from the top of my boot, I leapt on to the back of the thing as it ponderously turned to attack Macrina. "Die, bastard thing," I hissed, repeatedly driving the dagger into a thin joint between the nape if it's "neck" and the "head". "Damn it, why won't you die?"

"Sudhendra, be..." I guess that Larienna's next word was going to be "careful" but it was a fraction too late to warn me. The battered seam suddenly gave, and the dagger-blade slid into something that had all the resistance of warm butter. Several things happened so quickly that they seemed to all happen at once. There was a loud crackling noise, I was thrown off the back of the animalcule with considerable force, the dagger I'd been wielding flew off in another direction, and the mock-Man staggered a few steps before toppling like a cut tree.

"Ouch!" I exclaimed, pulling myself into a sitting position. "No, like, seriously, ouch." Larienna rushed over to me, frantically asking after my well-being. I assured her I was mostly undamaged and that what damage I had sustained could be repaired with a draught of a healing potion. This proved, thankfully, to be true and I was up and about in a few seconds. My poor dagger, the one that had been with me since I took it from the Census building eight days ago, hadn't fared quite so well. The blade was distorted, almost bent backwards on itself, and looked suspiciously melted.

I squatted beside the thing I'd "killed". The back of the head, rather than being punctured inward by my dagger, seemed to have been blown outward by some powerful force. Very carefully, I peeled back a piece of plate as best as I could, only to have it snap off in my hand. Inside the skull (for want of a better word) was a spongy honeycomb of blue material. Even as I reached to touch it, it liquefied and ran out onto the floor where it quickly evaporated: making a ghastly stench as it did so. Any further examination of the artificial Man would have to wait - Larienna was urging me on, saying that we had to find Hrelvesuu.

Tucking the shard of metal into my pack as a memento, I followed Larienna Macrina through the ruins. It was a strange experience: the ruins looked as though they'd been abandoned only recently yet, here and there, were hints of the great antiquity of the items. Stranger still were the odd devices that huffed and puffed in some of the rooms, performing some long-forgotten function even after untold years. Oddest of all were the lights that lined the walls. Made of a crystalline substance, they contained two metal filaments shaped like pyramids. These almost, but not quite, met in the middle of the tube: between them burned a brilliant light that existed without a flame. Or, as I found when I tentatively touched one, generating any form of heat.

At last, we came to a circular locked door, from behind which a strange clicking sound could be heard. I checked the door carefully for traps and was relieved to discover none. The lock, although complex, proved to be little problem for me, obediently clicking open on the second try. As the door swung into the room, I saw a great scaled shape.

"Hrelvesuu," Larienna breathed softly, her words accompanied by the soft scrape of her blade being withdrawn from its scabbard. Barging past me, she threw herself at the creature. Licking my lips, I hefted my axe and waded in to join her. With two of us to contend with, the beast - a sort of upright lizard with a massive bony collar - seemed confused as to which of us to deal with first. Since Larienna was the best trained of the two of us, I let her do most of the hard work: keeping the creature distracted and landing the occasional lick of the axe. With a strange, echoing roar, the creature Hrelvesuu collapsed, an unpleasant black ichor seeping from its wounds.

"Well done Sudhendra," Larienna said, extending a hand in the Imperial fashion. I shook it, grinning at her happily. "I couldn't have done this without you, and I'll be making a good report back to the Guild. There are things here that I don't understand, so I'm going to stay here a while and investigate. As a reward, help yourself to anything that takes your fancy - although I do urge you to remember that it's illegal to own or trade in Dwarven artifacts."

There were a couple of things I wanted to investigate that I'd spotted on the way in but hadn't had a chance to do so. As I turned to leave, Larienna said, "listen, I don't know if this is any help, but there's a settlement not far from here called Molag Mar. there's a 'strider service and you can probably get a boat from there too."

Thanking her even though I knew this, I took my leave. Now, to see what I could find. A glowing rock formation that I'd spotted turned out to be a deposit of a strange glassy substance: extremely hard and a brilliant green, it was all I could do to hammer a few shards of it off with my axe. Another room we'd passed turned out to have a massive pit in the centre, in which glowing molten rock bubbled and spat. In here were a number of metal drums, the tops sealed by an ingenious arrangement of wire. I giggled happily, for inside those drums were a number of rubies, a couple of diamonds, and a single glistening sapphire: enough, in other words, to earn me a pleasant sum of money from any alchemist.

As I walked past an overturned shelf, I felt a familiar tugging sensation; the sort of thing associated with a magical object. Protruding from under the shelving was a spear-shaft: it took me several minutes to move the heavy metal shelves but I finally freed the spear. It was made of the same golden metal as the animalcules Larienna and I had fought upon entering the ruins, but pitted and marked with signs of great age. There were Dwemer runes cut into the surface (Illkurok) that I couldn't understand. As I examined the spear, the patina of age seemed to fall away from it and, in moments, I was carrying a perfectly new-looking and razor-sharp spear. Considering what I'd just seen and the strange feeling of power coming off the weapon, I decided that I would keep it - even though I have no skill with this type of weapon.

Picking up a couple of the immensely heavy items of Dwemeri tableware, I considered the weight of the pack I was already carrying. Shrugging, I took two of the smaller goblets (one fairly plain and the other ornately decorated) and left behind the bowl, mug, and other items on one of the rusted table. So it was, quite heavily laden, that I made my way back to Molag Mar and conversed with the shipmaster there. It turned out that his deep drafted vessel couldn't get into Sadrith Mora because of all the shallows and shoals there. He did, however, know that there was a vessel sailing regularly from a place called Tel Branora to Sadrith Mora and he offered to get me there - for a price.

Tel Branora seemed to be a tiny fishing village perched on the leading shore of a rocky island. The huts were poor and dilapidated and I really didn't feel that it was worth exploring. So, I got passage on the small craft that would take me to Sadrith Mora, even though we wouldn't dock until dawn the following morning.

So it was bleary eyed and stiff after a most uncomfortable night in the boat, that we arrived at the docks in Sadrith Mora. There I got a most disagreeable surprise.

"You cannot enter Sadrith Mora without the proper paperwork," the guard standing in front of the massive stone door that blocked my access to the town said. "Speak to the Prefect of Hospitality." He instructed, pointing me to a set of stairs heading up into the most bizarre building I've ever seen. The wooden stairs led up to what appeared to be a mushroom, only a mushroom with a circular door set into the side. A little bemused, I climbed the stairs and stepped into the cool interior.

"What can I do for you Outlander?" the tall, well-clad Dunmer said, turning from the desk that stood at the side of the circular room.

"I'm looking for someone called 'The Prefect of Hospitality," I explained. "I need to see him before I can get into Sadrith Mora apparently."

"I am Angaredhel, the Prefect of Hospitality," the Dunmer stated. "And it's true than you need to see me before entering Sadrith Mora - as do all Outlanders. We don't allow non-Telvanni to wander around our town, or deal with our traders unless they've purchased Hospitality Papers. Even then, your movements are restricted: you must return to Wolverine Hall or here, the Gateway Inn, for the night. The papers are twenty-five Septims."

Rather reluctantly, I purchased the papers, although I was happy to discover that one set of papers would cover as many visits to Sadrith Mora as I wanted to make. As Angaredhel took my twenty-five Septims, I'm sure I heard him mutter something about 'at least making some money'. "Is there some problem?" I asked.

"Problem?" he fairly squawked. "I'll say there is a problem. A ghost has haunted the South Turret bedroom. It's been there over a week now, and nothing seems to get rid of it, nothing. I've had cleansing rituals performed, I've had the ghost killed, and still it keeps haunting the turret. I even got Arara Uvulas to take a look, but she couldn't find a reason for the haunting, nor get rid of the specter. I'm at my wits end, and it's ruining my business: everyone is heading over to Wolverine Hall instead of staying here."

I sympathized with Angaredhel, but really didn't see how this was anything to do with me, nor what I could do. Thanking him for the papers, I made my way back outside and down the circular stairs to the guard. He checked my papers and nodded, swinging open the massive stone door and allowing me into Sadrith Mora. It rapidly became apparent that the 'Gateway Inn' wasn't unique in being grown rather than constructed. There were many more of these mushroom-buildings, and the whole town had a grown, organic look to it. Dominating the town was a massive mushroom, far larger than any of the others, set in isolation on the hill in the middle of the island. It was with a sense of wonder that I walked along the street to the rather bland buildings that made up the Imperial settlement on this island.

Heading into Wolverine Hall, I sold a number of alchemical ingredients to a rather disagreeable fellow by the name of Scelian Plebo. Still, I did get six Cure Common Disease potions and a couple of hundred Septims out of the deal. The dour fellow in the Imperial Shrine hadn't been pleased to see me, Hrundi was.


	4. The Cleaner

"Well, well," he said as I walked into the Guildhouse. "Look who's back. Larienna Macrina was very pleased with your performance, I have her report here." (Here he waved a sheaf of parchment at me). "It seems as though you acquitted yourself in an exemplary manner Journeyman Vahl, or should I just start calling you Swordsman Vahl?" In addition to the rather sudden promotion, I also received the not inconsiderable sum of five hundred Septims for the task I'd just completed.

"Now you've proven yourself to be reliable," he said, without any trace of shame at expressing his doubts, " I have a further task for you.

"It seems that there's some trouble at the Dissapla Mine, over in the Grazelands. The guards there are busy protecting the Empire's investment so Novor Drethan, the Manager of the mine, has asked for our assistance. I want you to go to the mine and sort out whatever his problem is."

"Where is this Dissapla Mine?" I asked, "The Grazelands covers a large area."

"It's by the ancient Dark Elf fort of Falensarano," he said. "Here, let me mark it on your map. The mine is just a little way northeast of the fortress."

I examined my new annotated map; the fortress was roughly west of a town called Tel Aruhn; and by way of being far too far to travel today. I still had a few aches and pains from my visit to the Dwemer ruins, my axe needed sharpening, and I had a serious dent in my armor that needed repairing. So, not surprisingly, I opted to return to Balmora and take care of all of those things, and a few other things besides.

Ra'Virr seemed oddly eager to get his hands on the tiny Dwemeri coins and the items of tableware I'd picked up and gave me a very good price for them. That money, coupled with the money I got for a couple of weapons I'd picked up in Nchurdamz was more than enough to pay Meldor to sharpen my axe and repair my armor: with enough left over to get a soothing balm from Nelcarya for my aches and pains and buy some provisions from the 'Eight Plates'. After a quick meal, I slipped into a cozy bed and slept the sleep of the newly promoted.

After breaking my fast at the 'Eight Plates', I walked down to the Mages Guildhall and used the Guide service to get to Ald'ruhn. There I purchased a Translocation spell keyed to Sadrith Mora where, upon casting, I quickly found myself in. Shaking off the inevitable effects of the spell, I cast the cantrip that allows me to walk upon water and, running as quickly as I dared, I skimmed across Zafirabel bay.

As the spell started to dissolve, I made landfall on a small islet somewhere in the bay. As I clambered over the quite steep hill in the centre, I espied a ship cast up on the rocks at the western side of the island. Climbing aboard wasn't a problem since the rocks that had sunk the vessel protruded over the handrail. I had a moment's panic as I dropped from the rock - envisioning myself plunging through rotten wood to a watery death below. To my immense relief, the wood held, although it did creak somewhat alarmingly. The captain's cabin yielded nothing; neither did the two holds hold anything of any great value. I did, however, discover a jar of truffles, which I kept: these are a rare and expensive luxury and I was sure I could find someone willing to purchase them from me.

Once more casting the water-walking spell, I ran across the bay - recasting the spell at need as it started to dissolve and drinking deeply of my dwindling stock of Replenish Magicka potions. In this way, I quickly crossed the bay and made landfall on the main body of the island. Checking my location on the map, I turned north and clambered over some very desolate hills before descending into the verdant lushness of the Grazelands. Striking out in a northeasterly direction, it wasn't long before I could make out the bulk of a massive building rising from the hillocks ahead of me.

I circled Falensarano carefully: I had been advised that bandits often used these long abandoned fastnesses as a base of operations. A building that massive could hold a good many bandits, and I wasn't keen on giving them a target upon which to practice their banditry. Fortunately, the Dissapla Mine was only a few minutes walk away from the stronghold and I slipped into the cool, dark interior with a sense of relief. The glittering green light lit my way and told me that I was in a Glass mine. Taking my directions from the miners, I descended deep into the mine to a chamber where I found Novor Drethan.

"Nix-Hounds," the tall, well-dressed Dunmer said. Then, by way of an explanation, he added, "there are three, or possibly four, Nix-Hounds that have gotten into the mine. Unfortunately, I can't spare the guards to deal with them and one of the miners has gone missing. I need you to find Teres Arothan and guide him to safety."

Nix-hounds. I thought to myself as I unslung my axe and got a good grip on the haft, hardly a major problem. Walking softly, but without being too stealthy, I made my way up the short incline and into another set of tunnels. As I moved past a large pool of molten rock, there came an eerie howling noise from up ahead. Oh yeah, Nix-Hounds all right: I'd recognise that noise anywhere. And there, just up ahead, was one of them.

With a loud yell, I rushed out at the Nix-Hound, axe at the ready. What's that expression about fools rushing in? I'd neglected to consider that the chamber might have a second entrance and, as my axe thudded into the startled creature, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Even as I hauled the axe loose, I was struck by a clawed paw from another of the Nix-Hounds that had rushed into the chamber.

Fortunately, the stupid creatures were so eager to get at me that they were getting in each other's way. Raising my hand, I softly spoke the words of power for a cantrip of fire, slapping the already wounded Nix-Hound with my hand as I completed the incantation. As flames wreathed the designated creature, I spun and swung - a vicious upward slashing motion that neatly parted the head of one Nix-Hound from the rest of it. Without even hesitating, I looped the axe up and over, burying it forcefully into the skull of the third hound.

"Igneus manus." I yelled, releasing the axe-shaft and grasping the last hound around the head. Fire bloomed between my hands, and I stepped back sharply to avoid the spell's backwash. As the Nix-Hound collapsed into a twitching heap, I turned back and carefully worked my axe from the skull I'd buried it in: not much caring for the gruesome cracking noises as I withdrew it.

"Teres Arothan!" I yelled, "Can you hear me?"

"Here," came muffled cry from deeper in the cavern. Despite the echoes, I was pretty certain it had come from up ahead - the tunnels that the Nix-Hounds had come from. Following it up a short incline, I came to another chamber. There was a rock-shelf at the end of the chamber, with crude wooden stairs leading up to it. Much more importantly, there was the faint glimmer of light up there. Clambering up the stairs, I found a Dunmer cowering in a small alcove; just about as far back as he could get.

"Teres Arothan?" I asked. Receiving a nod of confirmation, I told him, "I'm here to lead you to safety."

"No, no, no," he gasped fearfully. "Not coming out while those Nix-Hounds are out there."

"It's quite alright," I said, extending a hand, "they're all dead." He took my word for that and clambered out of the hole. Keeping him close beside me, I led him back the way I'd come until we reached the chamber where Novor Drethan waited.

"Well done," Drethan said as kindly hands led the still trembling Arothan away. "I can't give you too much by way of a reward, but these might prove valuable to you." He wasn't kidding, I reflected as I walked out of the mine into the soft sunlight. Four shards of raw Glass was a valuable reward. Taking a deep breath, I raised my hands and chanted "Ex hic absum, ut Sadrith Mora".

(Okay, so technically I could have used the spell whilst I was still down the Dissapla Mine. Some people have an unreasonable fear of boats; some have a phobia about Nix-Hounds. I happen to have a problem with teleportation spells. Basically, I don't trust them not to screw up on me - I've heard far too many stories about translocation spells backfiring for me to ever be particularly comfortable using them. As for using relocation spells while I'm underground? Yeah, you can just forget that idea.)

Hrundi was pleased to see me, or gave that impression anyway. Personally, I think he was more pleased that I'd completed the assignment. Whichever it was, he gave me two hundred and fifty Septims, and then asked if I'd be interested in a bounty. When I indicated that I might be, he gave me details.

"Well lassie," he said, "there's this bandit by the name of Rels Tenim who's been making a wee bit of a nuisance of himself up around Vos. Word has it the Mage-Lord up there is pretty flashed by the whole deal an' wants this Tenim's head on a pike. To that end, he's issued a bounty on the chappie. We were lucky enough to get first bite at it - now I'm giving it tae you."

"There's another thing you'll be wanting to take care of," Hrundi said when I'd agreed to take over the bounty. "There's a lassie by the name of Berwen in Tel Mora. Says she got some sort of monster in her shop. Since you'll be up that way, have a look. It's probably nonsense, but there's a hefty bounty she's giving out for anyone who deals with it."

I agreed that I'd look into the situation in Tel Mora on my way to Vos, tomorrow. It was far too late to be travelling today. Fortunately, Hrundi agreed and allowed me to use one of the beds in the Guildhouse overnight.

Hrundi and I broke our fast together before I started out. After that I made my way down to the docks where I circulated amongst the various captains and Bo 'suns until I found a vessel that was headed to a place called Dagon Fel. The ship's mate agreed to drop me off at Tel Mora, for a financial consideration. And so it was, several hours later that I found myself on the dockside at Tel Mora.

The tiny island was dominated by another of those mushroom-tower buildings, with a cluster of smaller 'buildings' around the base. Since everyone on the dock was busy unloading, or loading, the ship I'd just arrived on I decided to see if I could find this Berwen the Trader myself. Not exactly the wisest of decisions. There was this circular growth at the end of the dock and the instant I stepped past that I was surrounded by guards. They wore the traditional armor that I'd seen guards wearing in Balmora - although of a slightly different design: Bonemold I think it is called. They all wore strange helmets upon their heads, purple-colored things with horns and strange protuberances. Oddly, they all wore long, ankle length skirts similar to the guards I'd seen in Ald'ruhn.

"Where are you going?" one of the guards asked me, an unmistakable tone of menace in her voice. It dawned on me that each and every one of the guards surrounding me was female.

"I am Swordsman Sudhendra Vahl," I said, managing to keep my voice firm. "I am here at the bequest of Berwen the Trader."

The guard directed me to the shop and warned me that she'd be watching me before moving off. Not exactly the friendliest people I've ever encountered, these Telvanni, I thought as I clambered up the ladder to the 'pod' that served Berwen as a shop.

"Oh thank the goddess you're here," the attractive Bosmeri female breathed as I entered the shop. "Wait, you are from the Fighter's Guild, aren't you?" I assured her that I was, and she sighed with relief. "The beast's upstairs - I managed to barricade it behind some crates."

Unslinging my axe from my back, I smiled tightly - if there was just one creature (and there certainly was something upstairs, I could hear it) then it shouldn't be much of a problem. As I climbed the spiral stairs became aware of a smell: like fruit that has started to rot, or butter that's been left in the sunshine too long. As I moved into the upper area, the smell became stronger.

Something in a dark corner moved as I reached the top of the stairs, and then came a heavy clumping sound as light reflected on the creature's eyes from the lone lantern. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this ruin of a Man that stepped out of the shadows - arms outstretched towards me. Its... no, his skin had gone a grayish color: not the color of healthy Dunmeri flesh, but an ashy grey. Huge lesions and sores dotted the almost naked body, where they did; the skin looked flaky - as though it needed but an excuse to start peeling off. The face was a ruin, the lips misshapen and slobbering, the hair falling out in patches even as I watched. The nose of the Man seemed to have partially collapsed, as though he'd caught one of those diseases that sailors pick up on shore leave. But it was the eyes that were the worst. I've heard it said that the eyes are the windows of the soul: if that was true, then there was nothing left of it in this creature.

As it clawed for me, I swung the axe in a perfectly flat arc. I was outside the creature's reach, but the extension of the axe-handle put it firmly in mine. There was a horrible, indescribable sound as the creature's neck split - the head parting company from the rest of the torso and hitting the floor with a terrible and final sound. Shaking, I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. As deformed and corrupt as the creature had been, it still felt uncomfortably like the murder of an innocent.

Adopting a suitably grim face - not a difficult task, let me assure you - I walked downstairs. I was proud of myself, I didn't rush even though I wanted to, nor did I stumble, even though my knees felt like jelly. "I've dealt with the creature for you," I told Berwen.

"Oh thank you," she said, "thank you. You're so much braver than I am, and I'll be sure to tell that nice man from the Fighter's Guild just how good you were."

I didn't comment on the fact that I thought she was pretty brave herself, what with staying in the building with that moldering hulk upstairs. Instead, I bid her farewell and made my way back down to the docks - wondering, as I did so, why the numerous guards patrolling Tel Mora hadn't dealt with the creature. I was in luck, the first real luck I'd had this day: there was a small skiff at the docks and - for the princely sum of a single Septim - the ship owner agreed to row me across to the village of Vos.

Vos seemed a pleasant enough hamlet, built in a strange style I didn't recognise. There was a fair amount of hustle and bustle as the locals tended to their crops. I managed to collar one of them and ask him about Rels Tenim.

"Well, arrr. You see, he done robbed the local Temple Miss, arrr, that he did," the yokel drawled. "We done give a chasing after him, but he got hisself up to the Ahemmusa Camp. We don't be goin' there; those Ashlanders ain't none too friendly."

A slightly more alert (and intelligent I thought) guard confirmed the local's story. Rels Tenim had robbed the local Temple and headed off northeast to the Ahemmusa camp. Following the guard's directions, I found the camp easily enough. Standing on a hillside overlooking the collection of temporary looking yurts, I considered my approach. Walking in with axe in hand didn't seem like a very good idea, I'd heard that these Ashlanders could be a bit... touchy about outsiders. With a deep sigh, I holstered my axe and - pausing only to prepare a spell in case I needed it - I entered the camp.

I was expecting savages, what I got instead were a very proud people who, if they deigned to speak to me at all, spoke with an icy politeness that bordered on the frigid. It took several attempts to get one of the Ashlanders to speak to me and I suspect that was only because I spoke the name Rels Tenim. With utter distain, he told me that the bandit had a camp in the Shallit caves. These were to be found on a small island to the northwest of the Ahemmusa camp. I was also told that, if I came to a Dwemer ruin, I would have gone too far and would have to turn back.

Thanking my informant with as much charm as I could muster, I headed off to the shoreline - only a little way from the camp. Licking my lips, I spoke the incantation "rigor unda" and stepped out onto the shimmering surface of the water. I'd used my water-walking spell several times in the past, but never on an ocean. Seeing that it worked just as well on the undulating surface as it did on a flat, still pond, I stepped out with confidence and began moving as quickly as I dared towards a small bunch of islands to the northwest. I had to recast the spell several times before I arrived at an island that was slightly bigger than the others I'd been past. Another thing that set this island out from the others was the partially submerged door nestling between some rocks. The cartouche on the door clearly identified it as 'Shallit Cave'.

This is odd, although there is ample evidence of occupation, there is nobody in the cave. There are a couple of crates, one containing a couple of 'Rising Force' potions, near the front of the cave and a fire pit and bedrolls at the back. Right at the back of the cave is a door, old and scarred, which (according to the cartouche) leads into the Drethan tomb. Perhaps there's a clue to Tenim's whereabouts in there?

You know what they say about the best-laid plans of Scribs and Mer? Well I was just about to get evidence that even the best and most careful plans could go way further astray than you could imagine.

The tomb was as dark as... well, the grave to be honest. There was no lighting except that which came through the open door. It was enough, however, to illuminate the figure of a woman who was bent over a stone plinth, reading a bundle of parchments. She turned her head and smiled at me. Not the 'hello, you're a welcome visitor' type of smile - more the sort of 'I want to suck the marrow from your bones while you're still alive' kind of smile. I suddenly felt woozy, unable to take my eyes from hers, which, I could have sworn, were glowing in the dark. With sinuous grace, the woman pivoted on the spot and started to walk towards me while a part of my mind, the bit not transfixed by her eyes, clamored for attention.

Her smile widened, at first to humorous bard proportions and then wider still. The light from behind me glistened on a set of wickedly sharp teeth as her nose started to deform. My unoccupied mind was screaming for attention now. What was it trying to tell me?

...VAMPIRE...

With a curse, I tore my gaze from hers and staggered backwards, sliding my sword from its sheath as I did so. The woman hissed and waved her hands whilst muttering some arcane cantrip. There was a flare of purple sparks and she suddenly rushed at me with unbelievable speed. Panic-stricken, I stuck my sword out and let her run onto the end of it. Spitting and hissing like a maddened cat, she threw herself backwards - ripping my sword from my hand. Wrapping her hand around the blade, she calmly slid it from her breast and threw it on the floor. My almost instinctive reaction had brought me just enough time to grab my axe.

I'd like to say that the battle went well for me, and that I defeated my opponent easily. That is what the storytellers would have you believe. Ha, let me tell you that this vampiress was the most difficult opponent I'd ever faced. Let's be honest, it's pretty damn' difficult to kill something that's already dead. Ghosts, mummies, even zombies and Bone-Walkers all attack by instinct and, if you can keep your wits about you, they're not too difficult to deal with. Your average vampire? An unpleasant mixture of ferocity, instinct, and guile: the whole package wrapped in bestial fury and the remnants of the original human intelligence. In short, not the sort of opponent you treat lightly.

A healthy blow caused my ears to sing and I responded with a wild slice that neatly lopped off one of the vampire's hands. She danced backwards, her preternaturally fast reactions allowing her to catch the severed body part before it even hit the ground. Giggling, the vampiress gave me a coy and chilling smile as she pressed the ragged end of her amputated hand against the equally ragged stump of her arm. I groaned as I watched the undead flesh knit itself back together. Most of the spells I knew were useless - the ability to walk on water was pretty unhelpful at this point and I sure as Oblivion wasn't getting close enough to her to use my Firebite spell. That left me with pretty much one option. Taking several large backward steps as she gazed in fascination at her repaired hand, I took a deep breath and chanted "Adeo mihi, mortuus animus".

There was a soft sigh of wind and a tiny, writhing yellow spark appeared. In less than a second it had grown immeasurably and the twisting, writhing knot of light sat at the heart of a whirlwind of glimmering dust particles as the ancestral spirit I'd called forth created a form for itself on the material plane. Then, there stood a kindly faced old Man with a long beard and heavy laughter-lines at the corner of his eyes. The hooded robe he wore was decorated with strange symbols. Despite the fact he was semi-transparent, he radiated a feeling of comfort and warmth: his lips moving soundlessly as his eyes twinkled and shone. Ignoring the phantasmal figure completely, the vampiress hissed and launched herself at me.

The change was sudden and terrible. One second there was this charming and friendly old Man. Then the head whipped around and that gaze fell on the vampiress. Pseudo-flesh sloughed away to reveal a distorted and malformed skull as hands that just as suddenly became skeletal claws reached out. There was a sizzling sound as empyreal flesh came into contact with reanimated flesh and fire flared around the arm of the female vampire. That made her pay attention to the ancestral ghost.

As these two transmundane creatures fought, I took every opportunity afforded me: setting my feet and getting a good grip on the haft of the axe. When I was certain that everything was perfect, I swung. There was a sudden tearing noise, and the vampiress was suddenly shorter by a head. Something seemed to flutter in the darkness, and then the female suddenly dissolved into dust. Panting heavily, I dropped the axe and ferreted about in my pack with some urgency. I could barely hold the slim-necked bottles as I drew them out. First a potion to repair the bruises and cuts the woman had inflicted on me. Then, even as the restorative fire coursed through me, I took a second potion to prevent any infection from setting in. A glimmer of yellow light made me look up, and I was just in time to observe the once more kindly face of one of the ancestors dissolving into yellowish colored smoke.

I also caught a glimpse of light amidst the dust of my former foe. Reaching down to examine it, I found a powerfully enchanted ring. Made of silver, in the form of a Bretonian Knot, it bore the inscription "MARARA" on it. Pocketing the object, I decided that enough was enough - at least for today. Closing the crypt door and wedging the blade of my axe under it, I settled down to rest.

Sometimes you get a lucky break, and that was what I got as I was leaving Shallit. There, on the bare rock between the pool and the crates was a line of damp footprints. They led away from the crates and suddenly stopped. Looking up, I saw what I had missed previously - a ledge up near the top of the cave that was almost perfectly hidden by some overhanging rocks. Now I knew why there had been so many Rising Force potions in the crate.

Taking a potion, I eyed the thin purplish liquid inside the flask uneasily. With a soft sigh, I pulled out the cork and drank deeply of the oddly smelling fluid. Tentatively at first, then with more confidence, I started to walk upwards through thin air. It felt oddly like walking on marshy ground - soft underfoot and giving the impression that you're going to meet a catastrophic problem at any moment but still managing to support you. I did find, however, that looking down was not a very good thing to do. So, eyes resolutely forward and wobbling slightly, I air-walked my way up to the stony ledge.

Sticking to the shadows, I carefully peered around an outcropping rock. There, a little way in front of me, stood a roughly dressed Dunmer - his back to me. I had no idea how many ruffians were in this cave along with Rels Tenim but I was pretty sure they'd all take exception to my being there. And, even if I managed to sneak past them all somehow and find Tenim? I was fairly confident that the alarm would be raised and I'd have to fight them all on the way out. So, divide and conquer seemed my only option.

I had a small dagger with me - a replacement I'd purchased for the one lost at Nchurdamz. Keeping to the shadows as much as I was able and keeping as quiet as I could (and silently blessing the bandits for leaving this tunnel unlit), I crept up behind the Mer and clamped my hand across his mouth. I wouldn't have been able to keep him quiet for long but then again, I didn't have to. I brought my dagger up under his chin - hard. He stiffened, then convulsed against me as the sharp business end of the blade punched into his brain. Sagging a little under his now dead weight, I carefully lowered him to the floor and moved deeper into the hidden recesses of the cavern.

Luck had been with me so far, and it was staying with me as I approached a sharp curve in the tunnel. From just around the bend, I heard the soft scrape of leather on stone. Freezing on the spot, I waited to see if I could hear anything else. Yes, there - the padding of feet on stone moving away from me. I'm not very proficient with a bow and have certainly had no formal training: that didn't stop me from unhooking the wooden shortbow I had been carrying and knocking a steel arrow onto the string. With exaggerated caution, I moved to the edge of the curve and peered down the adjoining passageway. Some thirty paces away stood a female Dunmer clad in leather. As I watched, she started to turn...

Ducking back into cover, I held my breath as I pulled back on the bowstring - bringing it to tension as I counted the footsteps that approached. At ten, I drew the string back further so that the ends of the bow started to take up the pressure. At twenty, I pulled the bowstring fully taut. At twenty-five, I spun out of the corner and let fly the arrow. Straight and true it flew - punching into the woman's eye in a welter of blood. Soundlessly, she fell to the floor. I wish the same could have been said of the sword she carried.

"Vad vars pass?" I heard a guttural Nordic voice say as the metallic clatter echoed through the enclosed space. I knew then that my luck had just run out. I had just enough time to prepare myself by drawing my axe and calling a spell to mind before the heavy-set Man rushed into sight. The fight was brutal and messy: his greater strength and reach made him a dangerous opponent for me; I did have the advantage of speed however. We traded blows back and forth until I managed to get in a lucky hit. The Man grunted in surprise, looking down to where his intestines were hanging out of his stomach. He gasped something I didn't understand and sagged against the wall. I wasn't taking any chances at this point and ran my dagger across his throat - there was no way I was leaving a potentially dangerous, albeit badly injured, opponent behind me.

(Some of you might be a little confused by my apparent bloodthirsty behavior in light of my reaction to the poor Man at Tel Mora. That monstrosity hadn't asked to be the shambling and mindless hulk he became. Tenim and his cohorts had deliberately chosen this life, knowing that they would have to kill to get their booty; that, plus the fact that they'd do their damned best to put me in a grave before I did for them.)

There were a couple more opponents to deal with before I was satisfied that I had cleared the cavern of occupants. I'd picked up several bruises and cuts - the worst being a long gash down my left arm. Searching through various chests, barrels and containers I found a nice haul of precious stones, some of the rarer alchemical ingredients and some nice weapons. Much more importantly to me, at this moment in time anyway, was the restorative potion I found. Gratefully, I drank the pungent liquid and then sat moaning as the stuff did its job. I even managed to drift off to sleep for a moment or two.

I can't put my finger on it, but I seemed to feel much better after my little nap - almost as though there was more to me than there used to be, if that makes any sense at all. It's a feeling I've come to know well: that feeling of being better than I used to be. At the time I just shrugged it off as an effect of the healing potion and thought no more about it. Making sure I'd taken everything I wanted from Shallit, I cast the spell that would return me to Sadrith Mora.

"I'd like to deposit a thousand Septims into my account," I told the stern-faced woman in the Sadrith Mora branch of the Bank of Vvardenfell. She carefully counted the coins and swept them off the counter.

"Your statement of account," she said. When I handed it over, she cast some spell over it that rewrote the figures and made them reflect my recent deposit. With that done, I made my way back into Wolverine Hall and sold off most of the ingredients filling my pack for almost six hundred Septims. Most of them went to the Altmer in the Mages Guildhall, but I also sold some to a talkative monk named Scelian Plebo in the Imperial shrine. Then it was time to speak to Hrundi.

"Lassie, you came back!" he said happily as I walked in the door. "I heard tell o' that beast in Tel Mora. Yon Berwen was right pleased wi' ye." I'd noticed that his accent got broader the happier he was - if he ever got too happy nobody would be able to understand him. Still, it was nice that he was glad to see me: that's not a feeling I was accustomed too. "I have here the money she sent for ye, less our commission o' course.

"And you took care o' Rels Tenim too from all accounts, so I'll be owin' you this sum too." With that Hrundi carefully counted out seven hundred Septims and slid them across the table to me.

"I've another wee job for you, if you're at all interested," he said. "I'll be sorry to say it's not as exciting as the last two jobs; we hae a contract with the Imperial Legion to supply the soldiers at some o' the mines here on Vvardenfell. I've a load of Sujamma here needs to be delivered to the Dunirai Mines.

"Here, let me show you on your map," he said. I spread the map on the table and he leaned over and stabbed a finger into an area of nothingness on the map. "It's right here lassie," he said, "southeast o' the Ghostgate an' roughly between Foyada Esannudan and the Foyada Ashur-Dan."

Well, I did want to get to know the island that was my home - although tramping into the middle of nowhere to deliver the twenty bottles of booze I was now carrying hadn't figured in my plans for doing so. Besides, how dangerous could it be?

Once more Hrundi let me bed down for the night in the Guildhouse and I slept the sleep of the truly ignorant.

I made my way upstairs to the Mages Guildhall - where I purchased a levitation spell - before using the Guild-Guide service to send me on my way to Ald'ruhn. I'd been impressed by the effects of the Rising Force potion I'd used in Shallit, and could see how levitating could come in very, very useful. I was aware, however, that I wouldn't always have a potion to hand: hence the spell. I'd also found that the Void-Walk spells were much less stressful than the Guild-Guide service. That's why I tracked down Delas Mrania and purchased the necessary incantation to deliver me to Ald'ruhn whenever I needed to be there.

There was a trader, one of those that you often find wandering around the Empire, outside and I asked him for directions to the Dunirai Mines. It turned out to be quite a trek from Ald'ruhn, far further than Hrundi had intimated. The journey east past Fort Buckmoth and down into the Foyada Mamaea was uneventful, as was the crossing of the vast jumbled plain of ash and rock. It struck me, for the first time, as I crossed that wasteland that something fairly cataclysmic had happened here in the past. If there had been a volcanic explosion, then it must have been absolutely massive to cause this sort of desolation. Still, philosophizing aside, it took me quite a while to make my way to the area indicated on the map. Fortunately, apart from the occasional run in with the local fauna - much of which seemed intent on making me their next meal - I found the Dunirai caverns with no problem.

The delivery was simple, and I soon found myself back outside the caverns with a substantially lighter pack. I suppose I could have Void-Walked back to Ald'ruhn or Sadrith Mora but the day was pleasant and I wasn't really in any rush. So I set off in the general direction of Balmora at no particularly great speed. I'd been travelling for a couple of hours when I came across something quite unusual. There, on a large rock, was a chalked arrow pointing northwards. Intrigued, I headed off in that direction.

There were several more of these chalked arrows - some on rocks and some on the floor. Then they suddenly petered out. I headed off in the direction indicated by the last arrow and soon found myself in a narrow canyon that split into several smaller defiles. More by luck than judgment, I turned a corner and came face to face with a young Dunmer.

"Erm, you're not one of those Ashlander types are you?" he asked nervously. Smiling, I shook my head - amused that he'd mistake me for one of the natives. "Then perhaps I could ask you to help me? You see, I was exploring and, and... well, I got lost, and my chalk broke, and I think I've been going 'round in circles for the last hour or two. If you can guide me back to Balmora, I'm sure my uncle will be most appreciative."

The lodestone wouldn't work in the canyons - I guess there must have been some more nearby. I do, however, have a fairly good memory for directions and I was able to lead the young man - Mannabu Dren - back the way I'd come and out into the wastelands. Checking our location and my map, I saw we weren't that far from a place called Caldera. As we travelled towards the town, we chatted. It turns out that Mannabu Dren fancies himself as a bit of an explorer and had set out to look for the source of the River Odai. He was a pleasant enough companion, although a little on the chatty side for me. So, it was something of a relief when I spotted the thatched roofs of the guard-towers of Caldera.

It had been my intention to lead him from Caldera to Balmora since the road is well travelled, well signposted, and relatively safe. However, when I saw the "all-seeing-eye" emblem of the Mages Guild outside an unassuming building, I had a change of plan. Leading him inside, I paid for the two of us to be transported - via Guild Guide - to Balmora.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time?" a Mage in a heavily embroidered robe said as Mannabu Dren stepped out of the small room where the Guide operates in Balmora. "Off exploring again, I have no doubt. Well, you'd better get yourself off to the Eight Plates and see if they'll prepare a meal for you."

As the young man headed off, the Mage turned to me and said, "My name is Marayen Dren, and I thank you for rescuing my idiot nephew. Every time he comes here from the mainland, he gets this urge to explore. And every time he goes off to explore, he gets himself lost. Last time we had half the House Guards out scouring the Foyada Mamaea for him. Two and a half days later, he comes in by silt-strider from Gnisis. How he got himself all up there is beyond me.

"Anyway, I am truly grateful that you rescued him. My sister would never let me hear the end of it if something happened to him. Here, I will teach you a spell as a reward. I have three potent spells I know: I can teach you the spell 'Blink', a quick and dirty invisibility spell; 'Fastfall', which is short duration levitation spell you can cast on a target; or I can teach you "Boiling Blood', which is a very powerful fire-based touch spell.

"An excellent choice," he said when I asked him to teach me 'Boiling Blood'. "It's terribly crude but effective. It's saved my life more than once." We sat and Marayen Dren showed me how to weave the necessary construct for the spell. Once we had finished, I thanked him again and made my way to the house I'd taken over. It was a little early, so I made a few notes and packed away the ingredients I'd not managed to sell yet before settling down in bed for a good night's sleep. Does the phrase 'the lull before the storm' ring bells? It certainly should have with me.

Sadrith Mora was my destination this morning; I needed to tell Hrundi that I'd delivered the Sujamma safely. My first attempt at the Void-Walk spell failed but I managed to cast it correctly the second time and appeared down by the Gateway Inn. Quite cheerfully, I headed up to Wolverine Hall, climbed the stairs and made my way to the Fighters Guildhall.

"Here ye go lassie," Hrundi said, dropping the last of the fifty ten-Septim pieces into the pile in front of me, "five hundred Septims, the standard courier's fee 'round these parts. An' I'm thinking that ye be due a promotion.

"Aye," he said, noticing my surprised expression. "Dinnae look so surprised Protector Vahl. You're getting yourself quite the reputation lassie. There's some in the Guild as wouldn't be handing out promotions if ye'd just saved their own selves from certain death. I'm no one o' them. I give ye a job, I know the job's gonna get done, nae fashin' about it at all. Yer a bonnie lass, Sudhendra, and I've got another one o' them sweet jobs for ye."

"Tell me more," I said, not unflattered by his comments.

"There's this scholarly type, name o' Sondaale out of Shimmerene," he said.

"An Altmer," I commented, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye," was his comment, along with a wry smile. "The usual sort o' thing, you know. Anyways, she's doin' some thesis on the auld Resdayni forts, full o' the usual hot air I'll be bound. So, this Sondaale is lookin' for someone to give her a wee helpin' hand over at Telasero - minding her back so to speak. I thought of you straight away, seein' as how Larienna Macrina gave ye such a glowin' report.

"She's agreed to meet you at the fort," Hrundi said, spreading my map on the table between us. I'd agreed to do the job almost immediately - I was intrigued by the forts having seen a couple of them and this was the perfect excuse to go inside and have a look around. "Now, here's Suran, an' here be Molag Mar. Telasero is pretty much exactly half-way between the two.

"Now, most o' these forts are home to an unsavory bunch - bandits and cutthroats mostly. However, the Legion cleared this place out less than a month ago an', as far as we know, the bandits have nae returned there yet. Still, I'll be expectin' ye back in very much one piece so you be mindin' your back in there - ye hear?"

Assuring Hrundi that I'd take great care of myself, and of Sondaale, I went downstairs and had the Guild-guide transport me over to Balmora. From there I caught the silt-strider over to Suran. Checking my map, I saw that I'd have to head south out of the town, and then cut east along the coast towards Molag Mar. It looked to be a fair step, and I wasn't likely to arrive much before the Twelfth Hour - and possibly even a bit later. As I walked out of Suran, I was surprised to see a small 'mining claim' nestled in a natural alcove in the rocks lining the steeply downward path. There was a Nord working the claim but I knew that it was available to anyone who had the right tools.

Just a little further down the path was a chalked arrow, pointing up a fairly steep bit of hillside. I'd had some luck following the last set of arrows so I decided to follow this one too. There were several more arrows - fortunately leading in the general direction I wanted to go - directing me over some fairly strenuous terrain. At the end of them was a massive hunk of rock. Puzzled, I made my way around it until, lying in a hollow betwixt the rock and the cliff-face, I espied a cloth sack. Opening it revealed a pair of perfectly matched Emeralds, an ensorcelled ring, a small bottle of crimson fluid, and a hundred Septims. Tucking these into my pack, I whistled my way down the hillside to the shoreline and made my way more or less eastwards.

I was a little out in my estimation; it was closer to the Fourteenth Hour when I arrived at the imposing bulk of the Dunmeri fortress: I'd been detained by several attacks from a species of flying creature indigenous to these parts - a Cliff-Racer. There may be more annoying creatures than these flapping brown vermin with their sharp beaks and spiked, horny tails - if so I've yet to encounter them. It took a little while before I realized it was my whistling that was attracting them - their natural belligerence and stupidity prompted the constant diving and swooping attacks.

So, this was a, what had Hrundi called it? Oh yes, a Resdayni Fortress. The massive bulk of the building rose up from the ash-strewn plain in a series of stepped ledges, with massive reinforcing buttresses protruding from the building's sides. As far as I could tell, the steep stairs were the only way onto the flat area on top of the fort. A tall 'keep' rode up from the middle of this stone 'plateau'; dark, deeply recessed windows glared balefully from all sides of the tower. Attacking a place like this would be insane - this flat killing field would be strewn with bodies if archers who were even semi-competent defended the fort. What a well-trained Mage could do here didn't bear thinking about.

There did, however, seem to be a complete lack of anyone waiting here for me. Over in one corner were a pack and a small fire, but there was no sign of Sondaale. As I scanned the artificial plateau, I caught a glint of light from the corner of my eye: over by the door. With a prescient sinking feeling in my stomach, I tugged out the dagger pinning the note to the weathered door.

CODE Esteemed Fighter, I have waited here for you but decided to enter this fort without you. It seems safe enough and I expect no surprises or problems. You may leave or stay and join me for luncheon, as you will; Sondaale.

Bugger. That meant that this note had been written before the Noon Hour (probably well before since the scholar would have expected to spend a couple of hours exploring the fort) and it was now - according to the Dwemer timepiece - almost halfway to the Fifteenth Hour. With a sigh, and a not so polite comment about the foolishness of scholastic types, I dropped my pack and rummaged through it for things I needed and could easily carry. A couple of curative potions and a couple of restorative potions went into the makeshift sling I slung from my shoulder; I took my bow and checked my quiver was full of arrows, and checked that my trusty axe was sharp. I hoped that Sondaale had simply lost track of time while exploring the ruined fortress but, somehow, I doubted that.

I almost gagged as the door opened under my tentative push and a rush of fetid air came out. Hot, sickly, and carrying a faint scent that was familiar - although odor might be a better word than scent. Keeping as close to the wall as I could, I sidled into the building. Red, fitful candlelight flickered at the end of a gently sloping passageway. That wasn't good - anyone entering would be illuminated clearly as they passed in front of the candles and down the ramps I could just make out descending to the floor level below.

THUNK

I back-peddled quickly as a short steel throwing knife clattered onto the floor - having bounced off the wall far too close to my head for comfort. Peering forward and risking another thrown knife (which whipped past my ear with a whirring noise in due course) I took a quick glance into the huge central chamber. Almost directly opposite me, I could see a pair of figures standing on a platform protruding from the wall. One of the figures threw another knife, missing me by a country mile. Hmmm, the candles over there made them excellent targets - backlighting them as they did.

I think I've mentioned before that I'm not brilliant with a bow. If not, I'd like to emphasis the point here by saying that I am not a good archer. So it was a question of who was the more surprised by my first shot. Knocking an arrow, I drew back the bowstring and stepped forward - swinging the arrow-point onto target, releasing, and stepping back all in one smooth, fluid motion. There was a meaty thump, closely followed by a gasp, a metallic clatter and another, much louder, meaty thud.

Risking another quick glance, I saw that the duo of knife-throwers on the platform had become a single knife-thrower. Needless to say, I was unable to repeat my initial shot but did pepper the figure with arrows until one finally hit something vital. There was a splash of red and a gurgling scream as he clutched himself and collapsed onto the platform. Emboldened, I slung my bow over my shoulder and hefted my axe before descending into the gloom below.

The red-tiled ramp led downwards to the main floor of the fort, which was also covered in the same small red tiles. Off to one side I could see a door, at the back of the chamber was a hole smashed into the fort: from the debris, it looked very much like it had been made from outside the building. Despite the shadows, I could see something moving down there. Pausing only to recover my arrow from the eye-socket of the fallen knife-thrower, I walked towards the gaping hole. The grey rock behind the thick walls had a strange, melted look to it but that wasn't my primary concern right at this moment.

The shambling, half-humanoid figure directly in front of me was. The skin, where it wasn't a flaky grey color, was livid red and looked rubbed raw. One arm and leg were swollen and disfigured, covered in weeping yellow growths. The same pus-filled growths dotted the more normal looking arm and leg too. The face was something I'll never forget: brilliant blue eyes stared out of a bloated ruin of a face. The nose was partially rotted and a huge growth bulged over the right eye. The mouth was a lipless maw in which a few rotting teeth stood like decaying tombstones. This, then, was a Corprus Beast - the final stages of the disease that had driven that pour soul in Berwen's shop to madness.

This wreck of a Mer (or Man, it was impossible to tell) lurched towards me, strands of something best left unidentifiable hanging from it talon-like nails and insane fury in its eyes. With a silent prayer to whatever Gods might be listening, I braced myself as it made it's slow, tortured way towards me - swinging hard with the axe as it came close. There was a squishing noise as the curved blade buried itself in the side of the creature's head. Wrenching it free, I swung again and again in a fury of disgust and fear. Finally, long after any normal creature would have fallen under such a fusillade of blows, it gave a soft sigh and collapsed, twitched, then lay still. Fighting down an urge to scream, I stepped away carefully circling the thing until I could peer further down the tunnel.

Other than the soft "gloop-gloop" of the molten rock that filled the small defile at the end of the short tunnel, nothing moved down there. Once more circling the rotting mound on the rock floor, I returned to Telasero and moved towards the door. Pushing it open carefully, axe at the ready, I stepped into a vaulted corridor. Ahead of me lay another door while, off to my right, a ramp led upwards. The floor was covered with the same small red tiles that were in the main chamber while the walls were made of some dark material, the blocks fused together in some unknown manner. And over it all hung an invisible miasma, a sense of something being very much off-kilter.

The ramp proved to only lead to the platform where the two knife-throwers had lain in wait. The short hallway and the ramp were covered in slivers of wood - evidence of my poor archery. I returned to the lower level and ventured deeper into the eerie stillness. Several empty chambers and corridors confronted me as I worked my way towards the heart of the fort and the door that now stood in front of me. From behind it I could hear a faint humming noise. Tentatively, I pushed it open and took in the scene that confronted me.

Two huge stone troughs stood in the room, one at each side. There were two doors on each side of the room and, between the massive support columns; I could see a chamber at the extreme end of the room. Chairs and tables had been dragged and piled along the walls. What caught my attention however, were the strange buzzing noise that seemed to emanate from one of the troughs and the bizarre 'altar' I could just make out in the end chamber.

Well, that's the buzzing noise explained - although I rather wish it hadn't been. One of the two stone troughs was filled with odds and ends, stuff that had been discarded: clothing, a small sum of money, a couple of books, and that sort of thing. It was the other trough the buzzing sounds came from - and that was because it was filled with huge chunks of semi-rancid meat. Some of the pieces had a certain shape that, if looked at in the right way, reminded me of... no, I'd really rather not think about what they reminded me of.

Having wiped my mouth and spat out the foul taste, I moved shakily to the altar. There was a large disk at the base of it, at the cardinal points of this circle were more of those red candles. From the centre of the disk rose a three-sided obelisk, each face of which was filled with small niches. In some of these niches were small and grotesque statuettes; there were five in total. A large, round 'font' dominated one of the cardinal points. Like the trough, it too was filled with the same disturbingly shaped hunks of rancid meat. Having seen more than enough, I returned to the main chamber and started examining the chambers off to each side.

"You en-war," the completely naked Dunmer screamed at me as I opened the door. "Time to die defiler." With that, he rushed at me brandishing a heavy looking club. It was obvious he was completely insane. What else would you call it when an unarmored man armed with the single simplest weapon there is goes up against an armored opponent who's carrying an axe? I tried to talk him out of attacking me - I didn't really fancy hacking away at a naked and damn' near unarmed man but he was having none of it. Frothing at the mouth (literally), he got close to me and started swinging the club wildly. All the while he was swinging, he was spitting out strange phrases - "The dreamer shall awaken" and "That which was destroyed, rises anew" are the only two that I specifically recall. After that it got a little brutal and messy.

Two of the other chambers contained similarly deranged Dunmer, all naked and armed with clubs or their bare hands. I was trying, very hard, not to draw any parallel between five of these crazy Dunmer and the five statues on the altar. The synchronicity between the two was a little hard to ignore though. The biggest danger in the fourth chamber was a couple of large and hungry looking rats - although the little black and red statuette tucked up one corner gave me a nasty turn.

"Are you Sondaale?" I asked the frightened Altmer that was crouching on the table. She nodded and asked me to get her out of the fort. I was only too happy to oblige. "Stay close Sondaale, we're going to be going at speed."

True to my word, I sprinted through the darkened corridors while Sondaale, carrying a lantern, scurried along behind me. It was a blessed relief when we raced up the ramp and out into the fresh air without let or hindrance. Clasping my knees, I gasped for breath as Sondaale collapsed to her knees and panted heavily. When we'd recovered sufficiently to speak, Sondaale told me she was heading to Molag Mar. From there she intended to go to Ebonheart, thence to Wayrest where, according to her, she intended to stay for a very, very long time. Without another word, she collected her belongings and headed off westwards towards Molag Mar.

Musing that Wayrest was just about as far away from Morrowind Province as it was possible to get, I examined my shoulder. One of the clubs had caught me awkwardly, and I had quite a nasty cut. The darkening skin around the cut suggested that there was going to be one Oblivion of a bruise there too. Wearily, I spoke the incantation "Ex hic absum, ut Balmora." When things had stopped spinning, I found myself in the market square of Balmora. I made my way back to the house in Labor Town and, after drinking a couple of restorative potions, fell gratefully into bed.

The morning was bright and clear as I stepped out of Dura gra-Bol's house and made my way to the 'Eight Plates'. It had become my habit, when in Balmora, to break my fast there. After a brief chat with the patron, I cast a Void-Walk spell and travelled to Sadrith Mora.

As I made my way up from the slave-market, I was stopped by a larger than normal Argonian. He said he was a pilgrim and, when I asked what his pilgrimage was, he replied that he was seeking a savior for his people. This Argonian even went as far as to state that I might be the savior he was looking for but, if so, I had a grand destiny to fulfill. That cheered me immensely and kept me chuckling all the way to Wolverine Hall. The only destiny I have is to earn a sizeable sum of money and settle down somewhere comfortable and safe.

Hrundi was pleased to see me and, after expressing his utter lack of surprise at Sondaale's irresponsible behavior, he paid me five hundred Septims for escorting her and, as he put it, 'keeping her skinny Altmer ass safe'. "Now," he said after I'd scooped the money into my purse, "I've got another wee job lassie, but its nae one ye're goin' tae like."

I knew immediately that it wasn't - Hrundi's accent had become broader than normal, and that was always a sign that he was under some stress. I indicated that he should continue telling me about the job he had. "It's a bounty," he said, "on a Wood Elf name a' Engaer. Yon haunless bugger is a mercenary frae Master Neloth if ye please. An' we've been given a bounty on him."

"Why is that a problem," I asked. "I mean, I don't like bounty work very much, but it's a necessary job."

"Ach weel," he responded despondently. "See you; this Engaer is a mercenary frae Master Neloth right? Master Neloth as in Telvanni Master Neloth - ye ken, them long-lived buggers that let us wee folk live here under sufferance? Now, hae d'ye think he's goin' tae feel about us when we whack one a' his mercenaries? In three words Sudhendra: blood rasende over!"

"Very angry?" I hazarded.

He grinned and said, "Close enough lassie, close enough."

"Well," I suggested, "why don't we just ignore the bounty?"

"An' let the problem go away? Would nae be that simple lass," he responded. "See, the bounty has been put on Engaer by Arch-Magister Gothren: the head o' the whole House. An' guess what he's going tae be if we dinnae complete the bounty?"

"Three words?" I said cheekily. He laughed aloud at that and nodded.

"Aye. Damned if we do an' damned if we dinnae."

"I'll need some supplies," I said. "A good sharp dagger, a couple of chameleon potions, and some poison." I listed when Hrundi asked me what I needed.

"I cannae help you with the potions or poison lass," he said, "but the dagger? Here, take this." With that he handed me a viciously sharp dagger of a design I'd never seen before, made of a very lightweight, dull grey metal. "Adamantium," he explained when I raised an eyebrow at him. "Very light and takes a wicked sharp edge. As for yer potions? Try old Plebo downstairs. Get yerself a couple o' levitation potions too, from what I hear Engaer is up on the top-level o' the tower. Now, for poisons, I suggest you try..."

"...Dirty Muriel's" I finished for him. He nodded and smiled. I scooped up the dagger and went to make my purchases. I had no trouble getting the requisite potions from the apothecary in the chapel and, after a little haggling; I managed to lay my hands on a small vial of Brown Spider Poison from a shady character in the local hostelry. While not as... immediate as I would have liked, it was virulent enough stuff to stop the heart of a Wood Elf fairly quickly.

My plan had the elegance of simplicity, and it went like clockwork. Almost like clockwork. Downing a levitation potion, I walked air to the top of the tower and touched down on a sort of balcony affair at the top. There was only the once entrance from here - a round wooden door that led into the upper reaches of Tel Naga. Walking up to the door, I swung it open with one hand whilst draining the phial of chameleon potion with the other. Stepping inside, I yelled "Engaer!" at the top of my voice. One of the figures in the chamber to my right spun around and looked for whoever had called him.

Sticking to the shadows (and there were plenty of those in this gloomy place), I raced around behind him and drove the envenomed dagger into the middle of his back. See, elegant and simple? As the Bosmer started to froth at the mouth and convulse, I headed back the way I'd come. Only to have my chameleon potion wear off just at the same moment a large and heavily armored guard stepped into the doorway. Oh, how the Gods do enjoy their little japes.

"Assassin," he rumbled threateningly.

"No," I said quickly. "Fighters Guild."

"Ahh," this human mountain said slowly. "You must be here after the bounty on Engaer then? Right." And, with that, this walking crag simply turned around and strode off. Even more surprisingly, the room's other two occupants - both of whom had started to draw their weapons - simply sheathed them and turned away as though nothing had happened. I was, to put it mildly, completely taken aback.

"What the hell happened in there?" I asked Hrundi.

He just shrugged and shook his head as he counted out my one thousand Septims bounty money. "Strange people these Telvanni," he said, "with some very odd attitudes to things. I really can't explain it - sometimes they react like you'd expect them to: other times they do something completely inexplicable. Like that.

"Well," he said ruefully, "looks like you've cleaned me out a' work lass. I've got nothing except a wild Kwama-Egg hunt left."

"A what?" I asked, visions of someone wandering through egg-mines picking up eggs going through my mind.

"There's this old tale," Hrundi said, "of a Kwama Queen that lays golden eggs. This queen supposedly lays one gold egg once every hundred years. 'Tis said that the Pudai Mine was found by a lucky young man eight hundred years ago who took some golden eggs and made himself a fortune from them. Now we have a very wealthy Telvanni collector from Necrom who's looking for the seven eggs that the queen has laid since then.

"The problem is, the whole thing is a fairy tale, the sort of thing mothers tell their bairns o' a night."

I laughed and told Hrundi that, should I ever stumble across this lost egg-mine, I'd be sure to bring him back seven golden eggs. We then spoke a little about the situation within the guild. He confirmed that the guild was riddled with Camonna Tong sympathizers, including the Guild-Masters at Balmora and Vivec City. He urged me to be very careful whom I dealt with. Assuring him that I would be, I went to Dirty Muriel's for a libation and a think.

I'd left Balmora because of the Camonna Tong problems there, I reflected as I sipped a glass of Sujamma. So, I wasn't too anxious to run straight to Vivec City and get involved in the subterfuges there. That only left Percius Mercius in Ald'ruhn - and I had a pretty good idea that he'd want me to be out there fighting the Camonna Tong influence in the guild. And that, at the moment, was quite beyond me. Despite my recent improved skills with an axe and my fledgling attempts at magic, I was still woefully under skilled: and likely to be serious outclassed if I went against some of the higher ranking members of the Fighter's Guild. As I sat wondering where, exactly, that left me, I overheard a conversation.


	5. Welcome To The House Of Fun

The Dunmer at the next table were discussing the haunting at the Gateway Inn, and complaining that they were being forced to curtail their business in Sadrith Mora since there was nowhere for them to stay. I remembered Prefect Angaredhel saying something about one of the Telvanni representatives looking into the problem. Perhaps I should look into it myself - and this Arara Uvulas seemed like a good place to start. I finished up my drink and headed down to the slave-market. Nodding to a couple of very muscular House Telvanni guards, I crossed the bridge towards the Council House. I say "bridge", actually, it looked more like a root that had been flattened out on top and had coincidentally joined the Council Hall to the side of the cliff. (It would take quite a while before I got used to Telvanni "architecture").

Inside the cool and dark building, a well-dressed Dunmer woman directed me to the council chamber. Behind the round wooden door was a large, circular chamber. The centre of the chamber was dominated by a massive crystal growth - from which a strange bluish-green light and a faint humming noise emanated. Around the outer radius of the chamber were a number of platforms, raised about head-height from the floor; on all but two of these stood well-dressed and aloof-looking Dunmer: the representatives of the Telvanni Council. Actually, it's a little more complex than that, but I'll try to clarify the status quo as I go on).

"Yes, I investigated the haunting at the Gateway," the dark-haired Arara Uvulas said in response to my question. "At first it seemed like a traditional manifestation, even though the Gateway is a relatively new building and has no history of foul murder or dirty deeds. Nor, indeed, is it built on any known burial ground or religious site. I performed the standard exorcism, which seemed to work at the time. However, I'd barely left the chamber when the ghost came back again.

"I've tried several rituals and incantations since, but none of them work for more than a moment or two. I am, quite frankly, at a loss to explain why this spirit keeps reappearing and am beginning to suspect that there is some malicious intent behind it; a conjuration expert perhaps? However, I'm interested in why you're interested."

I couldn't really explain why I was interested, and mumbled something about studying the application of magic. That seemed to arouse her interest in me even more, and she asked me to stay right where I was while she conferred with her fellow representatives. I didn't see the harm in that, and stood there while they all closed their eyes and somehow spoke to each other. Don't ask me how, because I won't be telling you. Anyway, after a few moments silent communion, Arara Uvulas turned to me and asked, "Would you be interested in joining Great House Telvanni?"

"Let me tell you the rules of the house," she went on, seeing that I was having some trouble framing a reply. "Then, perhaps, you'll be able to make a decision.

"If you steal from another Telvanni, but still live, then clearly you deserve whatever you stole. Murdering your opponents by magic or treachery is the traditional way of settling disputes. If you win, then clearly your argument has more merit. You may be expelled as in any other Great House, but most Telvanni will not care or even know about it. These are the principle rules of Great House Telvanni, do you think you can abide by them?"

"Are there no other rules?" I asked, intrigued. That 'if you murder your opponent and get away with it, your argument has more merit' clause probably explained the strange behavior of the Telvanni in Tel Naga after I fulfilled the bounty on Engaer.

"Power," Uvulas said. "The acquisition of and exercise of power be it financial, magical, physical, or some other form of power. That's the only other rule of the House. Now, tell me, can you abide by our rules and do you wish to join Great House Telvanni?"

I was, to be honest, feeling a little numb. I'd always been a loner, both with those that called themselves my parents and in the intervening years. I'd joined the Fighters Guild out of self-interest and, while they'd shown some interest in me, it was purely a professional one. I'd been rewarded for jobs done well and given fresh jobs to do. However, I'd had to ask to join the Guild, they hadn't asked me. Now here was one of the ruling houses of Morrowind province asking, actually asking, if I was interested in becoming a part of their House. With a lump in my throat, I said that I'd be honored to be counted a member of Great House Telvanni.

"Then," Arara Uvulas said, "Let me be the first to welcome you Hireling Vahl. May your presence in the House reflect well on all of us. For the moment, you will take your instruction from us, the Mouths of the Councilors. Likewise, we will answer any questions you have and give you instruction in the ways of the House. Now, I have a small task for you."

"May I ask you a question?" when she indicated that I could, I continued. "I don't understand. I thought that you were the Telvanni Council, yet you say that you represent the Telvanni Council."

"Yes Sudhendra," she explained. "The people we represent, the Masters of Great House Telvanni, rarely meet. Yet it is important that members of the Great House can pass messages to them, or perform duties for them, without having to travel to isolated places. That's where we come in. we each represent a Master and speak for them in this forum - hence the title 'Mouth'. I represent Master Neloth of Tel Naga. And right now, Master Neloth has need of five portions of Sload Soap. Here are five hundred Septims - you may keep any change."

Taking the money, I walked out of the Council Chamber into the cool, damp, darkness of the outer corridors. "Excuse me," I asked the Dunmer female nearby, "but do you know where I might be able to get some Sload Soap?"

"Your best bet is Anis Seloth," the woman said. "She usually has a large supply of the rarer alchemical ingredients."

"Thank you..." I said.

"Dalyne Arvel, Hireling," she introduced herself.

"Sudhendra Vahl, Hireling," I said by way of a reply. She smiled and welcomed me to Great House Telvanni. She then gave me concise directions on how to find Seloth's shop. I was to find that news spread quickly in Great House Telvanni and, even before I stepped out of the Council Hall, people in Sadrith Mora knew I was part of the Great House. Even the guards, who mostly addressed me as "outlander" or (more frequently) "scum" were more kindly disposed to me. One of the burly guards protecting the entrance to the Council Chambers even went so far as to say "Fair day to you Muthsera."

I found Anis Seloth's shop easily enough; it was a large mushroom perched on a steep ridge overlooking the slave-market. Anis, herself, was a petite Dunmer who always gave the impression of being rushed off her feet. However, she was well supplied with a variety of potions and ingredients, and she had more than enough Sload Soap to fulfill Arara Uvulas' requirements: the only matter now was the price. Anis Seloth was more than willing to haggle over the price and I eventually got a good price on the five packets of white, waxy Soap: two hundred and forty-three Septims. This left me a healthy two hundred and fifty-seven Septims profit. Well pleased with myself, I returned to the Council Chamber and handed the packets to Neloth's Mouth.

After thanking me, she asked if I was willing to undertake another task for her Master. "Master Neloth collects staves," she said. "And he has heard that someone at the Mages Guild at Wolverine Hall has a staff of the Silver Dawn. He very much wishes to add it to his collection..."

"Say no more," I interrupted. "It will be my pleasure to fetch the staff for Master Neloth's collection." I waited a moment, but it was obvious that no clink was forthcoming. That meant that the lovely profit I'd made would probably be spent on the staff. Remember what I said about the gods and their japes?

I walked over to Wolverine Hall and made my way up to the Mages Guild. As luck would have it, the first person I spoke to was a Mage by the name of Arielle Phiencel, and it was Arielle Phiencel who had the Staff of Silver Dawn in her possession. Unfortunately she wouldn't accept less than three hundred Drakes for it. Rather begrudgingly I handed over the money and took possession of the staff. It sang with that sweet magical note that all ensorcelled items have (for me, at least) but it certainly didn't look very prepossessing. The silver was badly tarnished, and there were areas that looked like they'd been scorched with something fairly acidic. Still, a Staff of the Silver Dawn was what was required, and this was one.

As I turned to leave, a thought struck me. "Tell me," I asked Arielle Phiencel, "Who is the best at conjuration here?"

"That would be Uleni Heleran," the Breton replied. "She teaches a course here at the Guild. Why?" By dint of some careful questioning, I managed to draw out some useful information. Namely that Uleni Heleran has been teleporting in and out of the Guildhall quite frequently of late. I was also told that Heleran had some sort of grudge against 'someone in town'.

"I know what you're doing," I said to Uleni Heleran. At first, she tried to deny it but soon admitted that it was she who was conjuring up the specter at the Gateway Inn. I persuaded her that it might have been fun to start with, but that the "joke" was wearing thin. She postured a bit longer, claiming that Angaredhel had fined her for not applying for Hospitality Papers when she arrived here. However, she soon relented and gave me a note - which she called "ghost-free papers" (a sad joke on Hospitality Papers I suppose) - to give to Angaredhel, along with a promise that she would stop her conjurations at the Gateway.

I stopped off at the Gateway Inn on my way back to the Telvanni Council Chambers and spoke to Angaredhel. As I expected, he was bloody furious when he found out that Uleni Heleran was responsible. When he'd calmed down a bit, he fetched out a small tray and showed it to me. "You've done well Ser Vahl," he said. "For stopping that wretch from ruining me, please choose a ring." There, on the tray, sat three very traditional rings: the burnished bronze and topaz of a Thieves' Ring; the mottled copper and turquoise of a Fighters' Ring; and the polished silver and jadeite of a Mages' Ring. Naturally, I chose the Mages' Ring.

"This is exactly what Master Neloth is looking for," Arara Uvulas said as I handed over the staff. "It's not particularly potent, but its spells are useful in a pinch. Do you know any combat-magic Ser Vahl?" when I admitted that I only knew a few spells, Uvulas took the time to teach me a cantrip designed to blind an enemy. I thanked her profusely, knowing that I'd gained just a little more knowledge. And knowledge, as every Telvanni knows, is power.

"If you feel up to more tasks today Hireling," a clear voice called across the chamber. "I have a small job for you to undertake." The speaker was Felisa Ulessen, Mouth to a Mistress Therana. I went over to speak to her.

"I have a skirt here that needs to be delivered to my Mistress at Tel Branora." Lowering her voice, she added, "My Mistress can be a little... eccentric at times. Please take these scrolls in case you need them."

Looking at the scrolls of ALMSIVI Intervention, I asked the obvious question, "where is Tel Branora?" Ulessen showed me on my map, adding that a boat was probably the best way to get there. Perhaps, perhaps not, I thought as I looked at the tiny islet far to the south on my map. Taking the skirt, I stood and spoke in a clear, concise voice "Ex hic absum, ut Ald'ruhn."

To my delight, Delas Mrania had a Void-Walk spell for Tel Branora, which I promptly purchased. Then I had the Guild-Guide service send me to Balmora so I could rest for the night.

I stepped out into the hazy Balmoran sunlight after a quick meal of fried Kwama eggs and cast the cantrip that would take me all the way across the island (and quite a way south) to Tel Branora. I staggered slightly on the uneven planks of the dock I arrived on. I had passed through Tel Branora late at night on my way back from Molag Mar. To be honest, it looked no less a dump in the daylight than it had that night. A small clutch of rude wooden huts clustered around a rough wooden dock. Of course, I'd not yet learned that, for most Telvanni, the dock wasn't the way they'd be arriving.

As I made my way towards the tower, I spotted a little group standing on the hillside. A Dunmeri female seemed to be in charge, and she had with her a number of soldiers, mercenaries I guess. From their short stature I thought they were probably Bosmeri. I had no idea what they were up to, and even less interest.

The tower of Tel Branora loomed before me, tall and convoluted. Taking a deep breath - this was, after all, the first time I'd encountered a high-ranking Telvanni - I stepped onto the bridge and crossed to the base of the mushroom-tower. A few questions of the guards soon had me walking up the spiral "branch" that wound around the tower until I reached the top. Stepping through the small, round, wooden door, I was faced with a series of interconnected chambers that finally led up to a room in the top of the tower. It looked like a whirlwind had blown through it - books and ornaments were scattered everywhere. Two Dunmer were arguing vociferously, and it looked like they'd punctuated their arguments with their fists. I had to virtually scream at them before I could get their attention.

"Which way to Therana's chambers?" I asked. Immediately they pointed in opposite directions, each aiming a finger at one of the two bronze doors in the chamber. Almost instantly they started arguing acrimoniously as to which of them was giving me the right directions. Under other circumstances, it might even have been amusing but it left me wondering if everyone in this tower didn't qualify for the label "eccentric".

I chose one of the two doors and stepped through into a small chamber with a corridor leading directly upwards. I'd been warned about this and had thought to invest in a levitation potion before setting off here. The purplish-colored liquid had a strange, oily taste but I swallowed it down and started to walk on air. Before long I found myself in a corridor that stretched laterally across the top of the tower. Walking along it, I came to a large, well-lit chamber. There inside, dressed in a flowing red robe with a raised collar that framed a wizened face and a shock of grey hair, stood a regal looking Dunmer.

"Are you the new servant dear?" the woman asked as I stepped into the chamber. "Or have you come to feed the spiders?" (There was something about the way she emphasized feed and spiders that made me feel cold).

"Felisa Ulessen sent me," I replied, fetching the skirt out of my pack. "She's sent you the skirt you wanted."

The woman cocked her head to one side and looked at me for a long moment. "How do I know you've not put a curse on it you nasty child?" she suddenly shouted, spittle flying from her lips as blood suffused her face. "Think I'm a fool do you Therana? Ha, no I know better than that. You put it on. Put it on now."

I blinked in surprise at the trembling woman. Her fingers were twitching convulsively and her mouth was working as though she were chewing something hard. I didn't know who my mother was, but one thing is certain, she didn't give birth to a fool. Therana's whole attitude was deeply disconcerting and the thought of actually putting on the skirt - pretty though it was - scared the spit out of me for reasons I couldn't rightly put a finger on. I had a better idea.

"You, Khajiiti," I said to the feline at the back of the chamber. "Your mistress wishes you to wear this skirt."

"You want Khajiit skirt to wear?" the Cathay-Raht asked. I nodded and shoved the garment into its hands. It looked down, puzzled, then gave a shrug and stepped into it. "There, Khajiit wear skirt n..."

"Dirty little thief," Therana roared, shoving me aside. I fell heavily, being unprepared and, as I raised my head there was a brilliant light, a sudden warmth, and a horrible smell. I rolled over, scrambling away from the smoldering ruins of the Khajiit in horror.

"Tell Felisa I wanted a Khajiit-fur skirt," Therana hissed, shoving her face into mine. Then, with a horrible grin of triumph, she hedp up this bloody scrap of fur and added, "Don't need one now. I can make my own."

Somehow I made it outside before voiding the contents of my stomach. Weak as a kitten... no, that wasn't a thought I really wanted right now. Pale and shaking, I stood in the breeze until the stench of burning fur washed out of my nostrils. The sight of Therana, gleefully tying a scrap of gore-drenched fur about her waist wouldn't go away - and I guessed it would be a time before it would.

When I was recovered some, I spoke the cantrip that would return me to Sadrith Mora and made my way back into the Telvanni Council Chambers to speak to Felisa Ulessen. She took one look at my pale face and nodded sympathetically. She paid me a thousand Septims for having delivered the skirt, and then asked if I knew the spells Mark and Recall.

"No, I don't," I said. She proceeded to teach me the spells, saying that they were much better than relying on ALMSIVI or Divine Intervention spells. I thanked her for her time and started to move off.

"I have another job for you Hireling Vahl," she said. I turned and looked at her coldly.

"I wish nothing further to do with your Mistress," I said.

"You won't have to deal with Mistress Therana directly," Felisa said, "I can guarantee it."

"Very well, tell me about this chore."

"Therana has an egg-mine, called the Abebaal Mine," Felisa told me. "It's an hour's walk northwest of Tel Branora. The slaves there are revolting. Therana wishes them put to death, but I'll leave it entirely up to you how you deal with the situation."

The teleportation spell dumped me neatly in the same spot on the docks in Tel Branora as it had before and, sparing an annoyed glance at the distant tower, I set off in the general direction of the egg-mine. Of course, I ran foul of that bane of every traveler here on Vvardenfell: the Cliff-Racers. Foul leathery things with a tail like a barbcat's and a heavy beak, these creatures are insanely territorial and often chase hapless travelers for miles (and days) to deal out avian retribution. Fortunately, they are rather stupid - hovering within easy reach of a sword while they attack. Walking back to Tel Branora wouldn't be a problem - all I'd have to do was follow the trail of corpses.

I found the Abebaal mine easily enough and stepped into the dark, warm interior. "You," I snapped at a nearby Argonian, "tell me why you have stopped working."

"Dark Elf," it hissed, "speak to Edeel-Lai." The Argonian reluctantly pointed deeper into the mine when I asked where I would find this Edeel-Lai. I walked, head held high, through the mine - ignoring the numerous Khajiiti and Argonians that stared at me with naked and open hostility. This, I thought, could be very, very bad if I mishandled it; I was outnumbered ten or more to one.

"You are Edeel-Lai?" I asked a larger than average Argonian.

"Ser, I Edeel-Lai am," it replied. When I asked why they'd stopped work, it replied "Serjo Therana, Mistress, make us work hard, overtime, extra time. I, tower, Tel Branora, Mistress home, travel. There many eggs I see, wasted, rotted, decorating tower. Us, no food, hungry must be."

I nodded. I too had noticed the Kwama eggs that littered the tower of Therana. "What do you intend to do?"

"Black Marsh, home, run away, go imperative, soon," it hissed in reply. "Key, bracers, needed, not found, here in mine, one yes?"

"There's a key to the Slave-Bracers here in the mine?" I quizzed, seeking clarification. "If you had it, you'd lead these people to the Black Marsh?" It nodded and I grinned. There was a sort of ironic charm to the thought of letting Therana's slaves simply run away. The key proved to be idiotically simple to find, it had been dropped carelessly into a crate in the Queen's Chamber along with a consignment of eggs. I took it back to Edeel-Lai and held it where it could see it.

"Listen very closely," I said. "In a moment I'm going to give you this key and you're going to set everyone free. When that happens, you are to leave immediately, and I do mean immediately. Do you understand?" it nodded, so I continued, "I will report back that the mine was empty when I got here. I don't know how quickly word will reach the tower but Therana's guards will be here as soon as they get notification. If they catch any sight of you, I'll lead the chase myself and I won't be merciful when we catch up. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Clear, understood, well wished, much gratitude Ser," the Argonian Edeel-Lai replied, reaching for the key. "Mist, unseen, as night, us go." I nodded, and dropped the key into its clawed hand.

As the former slaves clustered around Edeel-Lai with outstretched arms, I walked outside of the mine into the light and spoke the words that would activate the recall spell, "Ut locus Ego eram pro ". There was a flare of purple light that washed out the vista of the shoreline and, when the mist cleared, I was standing on the steps leading down into the Council Chamber. I permitted myself a grin, the first since this day had started.

When Felisa Ulessen asked for a report on the situation in the mine, I barefaced lied to her. "When I arrived at Abebaal, there were no slaves to be found. There were Slave-Bracers scattered about, but no slaves. My guess is that a guard was careless enough to leave a key where the slaves could find it."

"Ah well," Felisa sighed. "Slaves are easy enough to come by, but Mistress Therana won't be happy that they'll need to be trained. Let me teach you a spell Retainer Vahl, which will allow you to control any slaves you might have." For someone who prides herself as being sharp and on the ball, it took a while for the Drake to drop on that one. Felisa grinned at me as I looked up from the scroll she'd given me to study and mouthed "Retainer?"

With a new spell buzzing about in my head and a promotion under my belt, I returned to Balmora and the former house of Dura gra-Bol. I'd had my first taste of how the Telvanni do things and I was very much uncertain about the course I should follow. The Telvanni kept slaves, but they are not unique in that respect. Some careful questioning of the slave-trader in Sadrith Mora had taught me that slavery was still legal in Vvardenfell. More a matter of concern was the capriciousness and mental instability I'd glimpsed. There was, however, an uncomfortable truth to be considered: I'd made my bed, now I had to lie in it. By joining Great House Telvanni I'd effectively closed myself off to the other two Great Houses - even if I left House Telvanni, neither of the other houses would have me.

I just had to hope that Therana's madness wasn't a common trait amongst the Telvanni.

Today did not get off to the most auspicious of starts; it took me three attempts to cast the recall spell that would return me to the Telvanni Council Chambers. I hoped that the day would get better - something of a vain hope as it turned out.

"Ahh, Ser Vahl," said Mouth Omayn, "We need you to go and bring us five portions of Muck as soon as you can. When you get back, we'll have another small chore for you."

Obtaining the Muck was as simple as walking around to Anis Seloth's shop and purchasing five waxed-packets of the stuff. I was charged the princely sum of four Septims. "Excellent," Raven Omayn said when I handed her the packages, "now we can make up some potions." With a sigh, she added, "Life would be so much easier if everyone would learn a simple cure common disease spell."

I politely pointed out that I didn't know how to cast such a spell. The Mouth looked at me in a long-suffering manner and then proceeded to teach me one. The school of restoration has never been one of my strong points, but the spell seemed so useful that I resolved to practice casting it at every opportunity until I could do so easily.

"Now we have a slightly more difficult task for you," she said as she straightened up. "We need you to find a ring known as The Black Jinx. We know that this ring is here in Sadrith Mora, but we don't know where. We are aware that you have contacts that are not available to us and hope you can locate and retrieve the ring. Please keep us informed."

Talking to Raven Omayn was a strain, her Mistress tended to dominate Omayn's mind and the two spoke as though they were one person. Still, as my foster-father would have commented, it's an inside job with no heavy lifting. Which tells you as much about that worthy individual as you'll ever need to know. I went around the slave-market, asking about the Black Jinx, but nobody could tell me much about it. After about an hour of this, I suddenly stopped and thought about what had been said to me. Sudhendra, sometimes you're such a fool.

I hit pay dirt almost immediately. A rogue sorcerer out of the Illiac Bay said he'd give me the information he had for the price of a drink. After I'd brought him a jug of Matze from Muriel, he told me what I needed to know. "The Black Jinx is, as you have been so correctly informed, right here in Sadrith Mora. Further more, I can tell you it's in the possession of one Alven Salas."

"Oh, one more thing," he said after I'd thanked him and turned to go. "This Salas? He's an assassin with the Morag Tong. I believe you'll find their Guildhall at the north of the town. Good luck."

Oh marvelous, I reflected as I stood outside Dirty Muriel's. I've been here what, a little over two weeks? Now I'm expected to go up against someone who makes his living killing people like me. Did I anger the Gods in some way? Am I being punished for transgressions in a former life? Or did stuff like this happen to other people?

It was with my heart in my mouth that I walked to the northern end of Sadrith Mora. There stood a building: it looked no different from its neighbors. Until you realized it had no neighbors. This, then, was the Morag Tong Guildhall - and the prize I sought was inside.

"So you want the Black Jinx eh?" Alven Salas sneered. "I'll tell you what, you beat me in a fair fight and you can have the ring. If I beat you, you can't. Simple enough for you?" I was faced with little choice - if I wanted to get the ring for Dratha I'd have to fight this assassin. And I was pretty sure that not getting the ring would severely hamper any chance of future promotion within the House. Besides, this arrogant prig needed to be taught a lesson. I nodded.

Alven Salas laughed, his hand snaking out and slapping my face with scary speed. "Oh," he said, "a little pointer. I'm going to beat you until you beg me to stop. The only way you can beat me is to kill me." I managed, barely, to deflect his next blow. I drew my sword - an axe being next to useless in this enclosed space - and slashed at him. He laughed nastily and danced easily out of the way. "Have to do better than that," he taunted.

There followed one of the most humiliating experiences I've ever had to undergo. Try as hard as I would, I couldn't connect with the Dunmer in front of me: yet he seemed to be able to reach through my defenses at will and pummel me repeatedly. A blow to the head knocked me off balance, and the follow up punch, to the stomach, winded me. Again, and again he brushed past my blade to strike me. I could feel my rage building - this was what I'd had to suffer back in Hammerfell from my foster-father. To stand there while he taunted and slapped me for whatever transgression - real or imagined - took his fancy.

With a snarl, I dropped the sword. "Giving up already?" sneered the assassin, slapping my face again. "We'll dance until I say we're done, and then we'll..."

His taunts died in his throat as I looked up at him from under my fringe of white hair. I was livid with anger, all the old frustrations boiling back to the surface. But this wasn't a burning anger, a hot rush of rage: no, this was something colder and far deadlier. "You want to dance Salas?" I said in a monotone. "Then let's dance."

He lashed out again, but this time it was I who connected - my nails raking four bloody lines down his left cheek. His foot clipped my shoulder as he lashed out with a furious kick, only to go crashing down to the floor as I swept his other leg from under him. I managed to get in two vicious kicks before he rolled away and scrambled to his feet. Rather more warily now, he circled around me before unleashing a fusillade of punches. Stoically I absorbed them, grunting at the impact - and then I opened up his right eyebrow with my thumbnail. I admit, it wasn't intentional, what I'd actually been trying to do was take out his eye.

A small steel dagger appeared in his hand with a suddenness that was magical. He lunged forward and I spun out of the way and smashed the dish I swept up off the table across the back of his head. He staggered and I was on him in a heartbeat. I clung onto his back, my arm cinched tightly around his throat as we crashed to the floor. With a wordless snarl I twisted my grip. There was a sudden, sharp crack and Alven Salas went limp. Rolling off him, I curled up and wept. I wept for Salas, for myself, for anyone who found them self in a similar situation, for all those who had to suffer and who couldn't retaliate against their tormentors. But, I think, I mostly wept for myself.

The person who stood up wasn't the same person who'd entered the assassins' Guildhall. Despite my wandering and my roguish lifestyle, I had entered the building as a child, what would step out was colder, harder, and deadlier. Before I would defend myself if necessary, although running was always an option I preferred. Now I'd have no truck with such behavior - whatever life, or this inimical island threw at me I would meet it head on, subdue it, turn it to my advantage or kill it if necessary. I was through being pushed from pillar to post: now it would be me who did the pushing.

With no qualms or revulsion, I rifled through Salas' belongings and took the Black Jinx. Returning to the Telvanni Council Chambers, I presented it to Raven Omayn.

"Excellent," she said, "We are well pleased. We will pay you five hundred Septims for the..."

"No," I interrupted. "Magic. I want to be paid in magical spells, scrolls, weapons, or training."

"Very well," Omayn said, quirking an eyebrow. "We shall teach you a spell to demoralize your enemies and give you this glass jinx-blade. Is that more acceptable to you?"

After learning the spell, I returned to Balmora and cast the healing spell on myself. My doubts about Great House Telvanni were a thing of the past, part of the old me. Redoran would suit me only because they produced good warriors - their notions of honor and fair play would only have been a hindrance. Hlaalu were soft, soft and corrupt. No, only House Telvanni could provide me with the thing I needed: magic. After all, magic requires knowledge and, as I've remarked before, knowledge is power. And the powerful? They tend to survive.

I awoke refreshed from my meditations, a new awareness of my strengths and weaknesses filling me. Despite the beating I'd taken, I felt strong, stronger than I had been since I stepped of that ship in Seyda Neen. In fact, it almost seemed as though I'd reached some sort of higher level, one that left me feeling enhanced in strength, fitness, and intelligence. Spells that I'd barely been able to cast without depleting my magicka now came much more easily and I'd acquired some of the body-tone I'd had before I'd been packed off to prison. With a grin, I returned to the Telvanni Council Chambers.

"We have been talking about you Sudhendra," Mallam Ryon said as I entered the chamber. "I, and a few others, feel that you're going to be a real asset to the house. Accordingly, it is our pleasure to promote you to the position of Oathman." After I'd thanked him, he said "now, Sera Vahl, I have a task for you. It's not onerous, but it does require a fair bit of travelling. There is a Telvanni living in Gnisis. My Master wishes you to ask him some questions."

"What are the questions?" I asked.

"Gothren wishes to know what Baladas Demnevanni knows about the disappearance of the Dwemer; whether he has any knowledge of the Dwemeri language; and, finally, whatever he can tell us about Dwemeri artifacts.

"It's very likely that Demnevanni will not answer these questions," Mallam continued. "However, the Arch-Magister wishes these questions asked regardless of what answers we get. Now, here is some money for expenses..."

"I've not actually said I'm willing to do this," I pointed out, earning myself a bewildered stare from Mouth Ryon and a silvery giggle I'm sure came from Felisa Ulessen. "But I will ask your Master's questions."

The clink was about enough to pay for Guild-Guide transportation to Ald'ruhn with enough left over, at a guess, to pay for transportation up to Gnisis by whatever means I could find. I had different plans. Repeating the cantrip that would take me to Ald'ruhn, I went into the Mages guild and sought out Delas Mrania. "Do you have a teleportation spell for Gnisis?" I asked. She did, and I wasted little time in purchasing it and getting out of there. As I stood in the patch of dust that passed for a main square, I thought about what I'd just encountered.

I'd passed through various Mage Guildhouses since my arrival and, while not exactly gushing with friendship; the mages had been friendly enough. Now, however, there seemed to be a distinct coolness in their interactions with me. Chalking it up to general paranoia, I shrugged and spoke the cantrip that would take me to Gnisis.

The change in scenery was astonishing. Sure, the houses were still those oval huts that the Redoran seemed to prefer, but the town had none of that cramped feel that afflicted Sadrith Mora, Balmora, or Ald'ruhn. Huge cliffs rose on two sides of the town, the soft orange rock sparkling in the sunlight. A massive Dunmeri temple dominated the town square and, off to the west was a massive domed building that seemed to erupt from the hillside. Behind me, in a deep channel, frothed and foamed a broad river. And, for the first time, I could smell growing things instead of the flinty smell that suffused the island. The only downside was the Imperial fort on the eastern side of the town and the large number of legionnaires strolling around.

However, even Orcish legionnaires have their uses and one of them directed me to the large domed building when I asked about Baladas Demnevanni. The building, according to the Orc, was called Arvs-Drelen. The door, like so many here on Vvardenfell, wasn't locked and I stepped right inside.

The interior architecture was as different as the exterior. The room I found myself in - as did all the other rooms and corridors, had rounded corners and flat walls. Flat, that is, up to chest-height - after that they curved gently inwards towards the roof. The room was devoid of any furnishings and boasted but a single door that led, presumably, to the interior of the building. In the corridor beyond, I was faced with a choice. To my right, the floor sloped gently but perceptibly downwards, to my left, it sloped upwards. Figuring that Demnevanni would live at the top of the building, I turned left and headed that way.

The corridor curved around seamlessly inside the building, with just one corridor branching off. At the top of the gentle incline I found myself confronted by a door. A thick, heavy door. A door that fairly hummed with the power of the wards placed on it. A door that had a lock of such bewildering complexity that, even were I a skilled thief, would have flummoxed me. It was, in short, a door that said 'unless you can figure out how to get past me, GO AWAY!'

There were two rooms on the branching corridor. One of the rooms was obviously a room for servants' - it contained a couple of beds and a large cupboard. The other room was decidedly not empty: two skeletal guardians were protecting a couple of chests and some crates. The room was quite large and gave me ample room to swing an axe freely. Skeletal warriors look impressive, but fragile bone stands little chance against a heavy weapon. The crates contained some alchemical ingredients but, frustratingly, the chests were locked beyond my meager skill. They were not locked beyond the power of the scroll I carried. Unrolling the fine velum, I studied the angular characters of the native language. Hesitantly, I spoke the syllables inscribed on the scroll, "Annon Edhellen, edro hi amen." There was a flash of purple light and the lock on the chest I was looking shattered like ice underfoot. Seconds later there was a flare of brilliant white light and the scroll I carried vaporized and vanished like smoke. Well, there was no key in the chest, but the light from the nearby torches reflected of the heaped mound of coins with a subtle golden glow. Neither did the second chest contain a key, but I was some four hundred Septims the richer when I stepped out of that chamber.

(_Now, some of you may ask, why did I not use the scrolls on the door? Simple: even the most cursory examination of the door-wards showed how lethal they were and I simply had no means of disarming them._)

The curving corridor decanted me back into the vestibule of Arvs-Drelen, leaving me with only one other direction to explore. The short passageway led to a landing, a sort of T-junction. The downward sloping corridor led into a cellar/prison. The chests in the cellar contained various household supplies and the prison cell was unlocked and empty. I had much more luck with the room at the top of the slope.

This was obviously the room of a much more important servant and, resting on a piece of parchment on a cupboard was a simple iron key. Since this was the only key I'd found, and I'd run out of places to search for another, I took it back to the lethally trapped door. It slid into the lock easily and, when I turned it there was a soft click: the wards fell and the door swung slowly open under my hand.

"Gah!" I screamed as the bulking shape of a Daedroth filled the doorway. It opened its mouth, revealing far too many razor-sharp teeth and snorted, nostrils flaring. To my utmost surprise, it simply turned away. No, it couldn't be... Baladas Demnevanni kept a Daedroth as a pet? Still trembling, I skirted around the edge of the huge oval room to the stairs that led upwards. Crouching to keep the Dremora in sight as it paced the lower chamber, I headed upwards. Where I got the biggest shock to date.

The Mer who stood facing me was of average height and slim build. The weight of his years had turned his black hair and beard to a mass of grey hairs and pressed down on his shoulders to give him a stooped aspect. The eyes transfixed me, freezing me in my tracks. Red as a storm cloud they were, and about as friendly. That was not what had me rooted to the spot. I prided myself on being intelligent but the power of the intellect burning behind these crimson eyes dwarfed my own. In fact, only twice more would I see such intellect and power in the eyes of a being. But, more of that tale in its appointed place.

"Who intrudes on my studies?" Baladas Demnevanni (for it could be no other) asked.

"I am Sudhendra Vahl," I managed to stammer, "Oathman of House Telvanni."

"And why do you visit Arvs-Drelen?" he asked in a slightly warmer tone of voice. Relaxing a little, I explained to him why I was there. "Hmmm," he said, peering at me closely. Then, in a brisk and dismissive tone of voice, he rattled off the following reply.

"There are many theories as to how and why the Dwemer vanished. Any fool with access to a library of good books can find a dozen conflicting theories within an hour. The language, Dwemeris, is unknown and unknowable. Consider this child, the Dwemer vanished over three millennia ago - who now would there be to teach the language to another? As for artifacts," he concluded, "you may visit any ruin and load yourself down with as many as you can carry."

With that, he gave the briefest of bows and turned back to the complex apparatus sprawled over the table behind him. In other words, thank you and goodbye. As I turned to leave, I saw the Type II animalcule in the corner. Even as I watched, it bloomed like the deadliest of flowers, extruding a blade as its blind head scanned the room. As it folded itself away again without attacking, I couldn't suppress a snort of laughter. Old mister "I-know-nothing-about-the-Dwemer" Demnevanni knew a good deal more than he was telling. I thought back over our conversation - at first he'd been cold and threatening, but had warmed when I introduced myself as a fellow member of the House. The coldness had returned when... when... when I said I Mallam Ryon had asked me to ask him some questions!

So, I mused as I cast the spell that would take me back to the Telvanni Council Chambers, there was a history between Demnevanni and Mallam? No, it was more likely that the disagreement was with Mallam's master - Arch-Magister Gothren. An interesting tidbit of information, but not one that I could see any immediate use for: still, it bore remembering.

Mallam Ryon thanked me for visiting Baladas Demnevanni, and I got the distinct impression that the answers I provided (verbatim, and with more than a little relish) were exactly what he'd expected to hear. In fact, the impression that I got from the whole trip was that somebody was keeping tabs on the Wizard Demnevanni for some reason. Still, the internal politics of the House were not really my concern at this point.

After breaking my fast at Fara's Hole-In-The-Wall, a rather pleasant hostelry that was conveniently close to the Telvanni Council Chambers, I went back to see if there were any more chores that needed to be done.

"Arch-Magister Gothren requires a set of Dwemeri blue-prints," Mallam Ryon told me. "After some consultation, we believe that the ruins at Nchuleft are probably the best place to obtain a set, although there are those that disagree. If you wish, you can cross Zafirbel Bay using magic and strike north from there. However, it would probably be best to go up to Vos and head southwest towards the mountains. Here, let me show you Vos on your map..."

Vos was quite a way north, almost at the top of the island. Felisa Ulessen told me that there was a boat service from Sadrith Mora to Tel Mora and, she felt sure, some form of service from there to Vos. Thanking her, I left the chambers and made my way down to the dockside. A few questions of the House-Guards and I knew where I was going, heading out towards a large vessel anchored at the end of one of the docking-spurs.

"Yes, I can take you up to Tel Mora," the captain of the 'Elf-Skerring' said, spitting over the guardrail. "Gonna cost you twenty-two Septims mind." I didn't mind and, with commendable speed, we had cast off and were under way. Captain Arethi turned out to be an excellent travelling companion: when he wasn't steering his vessel around wickedly sharp rocks and avoiding sandbanks, he pointed out various points of interest on the way. Admittedly, most of these were small, uninhabited islands that were distinctly lacking in interest when he pointed them out, but it was his fund of ribald and risqué stories that made the journey so entertaining.

"Well Sera Vahl," he said as we tacked towards an island with a very familiar mushroom-tower rising from it, "here be Tel Mora, and this is as far as I can take you before I head on up to Dagon Fel. If you want my advice, speak to Tonas Telvanni: her little skiff will get you across to Vos in no time, and she's reasonably cheap. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be getting under sail - I ain't exactly welcome here."

Wondering why that should be, I walked up the ramp to where a guard stood. "Excuse me Muthsera," I asked, "could you direct me to Tonas Telvanni?"

"You'll find her over there," the guard said in a voice that was made echoed by the strange helm she wore. Despite that, there was no mistaking the fact that it was a female voice. Peering around, I saw another female guard, and a woman coming out of what I assumed was a shop. There was another woman haggling with a female trader over a string of brightly colored fish. And then there was Tonas Telvanni, clad in a dark leather cuirass. In fact, the one thing I didn't see was any men. How very odd.

'No time' turned out to be about an hour but I couldn't complain since the journey only cost me a Septim. Dominating the docks at Vos was a huge mushroom building that I found out later was the Varo Tradehouse. A steep path led under the mushroom-pod and up a steep defile between two hills until it reached a crossroad. Off to my right was the path up to Vos itself. This appeared to be a closely packed collection of buildings made of a yellowish stone similar to that used to construct Arvs-Drelen. From the village, a path led up another steep hill to a massive Imperial fort that overlooked the bay and the village. The fort looked... oddly incomplete.

However, Imperial forts and small fishing villages were not what I was here for. According to Mallam, Nchuleft was hard against the mountains that I could just hazily make out in the distance and some way south of Vos. The easiest course, I decided, would be to head west until I reached the mountains and then follow them southwards until I reached a likely looking Dwemeri ruin.

Both the weather and the lush landscape were pleasant, and I made quite good time walking across the rolling hills and down into the worn valleys that lay between them. Sweet, earthy smells filled the air and, while there was plenty of wildlife, most of it seemed quite content to keep Elf off the menu. That's not to say I didn't have the odd run in with aggressive creatures. And the one creature I had a disagreement with was the single oddest thing I've ever seen.

I'd just clambered up out of a valley when there was a startled snort. A little way to the left of where I'd crested the hill was a mottled grey and black creature that seemed to consist entirely of a pair of legs and a stomach. Oh, and a very large mouth - and the worst case of bad breath I've ever encountered. I don't know if the creature was hungry, whether I'd startled it badly, or it was just naturally aggressive: whatever the case, it rushed at me with it's mouth open and the most laughable gait of any creature I've ever encountered. Its whole body swayed from side to side as it lumbered closer, displaying a disconcerting turn of speed.

"Eww," I gagged as it snapped at me, the stench of its breath enveloping me. Tears streaming from my eyes, I waved my axe at it. The flat of the blade caught the creature across the snout and it made a high-pitched yelping noise before heading off away from me at speed. Dropping to my knees, I coughed and spluttered, spitting until the foul taste in my mouth went away. Fortunately, the creature wasn't inclined to attack further and we gave each other a wide and wary berth as I continued on my way.

Before much more time had passed, I reached the root of the mountains: massive black crags sweeping majestically skywards from the green and verdant plains. Turning south, I followed them as closely as I could. The sun was getting low in the sky when I finally saw the unmistakable towers of a Dwemer building rising from the top of a plateau ahead of me. With my destination (or so I hoped) now in sight, I picked up the pace and soon found myself standing outside the entrance to the ruin. The doors were rusted but still in very good condition and I could still make out the sharp angular runes that decorated it. Mallam had given me a scrap of parchment upon which was written Nchuleft in Dwemeric script. The runes on the door matched exactly.

After figuring out how to open the door, I stepped inside. A steep flight of metal stairs led downwards to a corridor. Scurrying up the stairs, feet clicking on the metal, was a Type I animalcule: one of those spider-things. I was more than ready for the damn thing and, as it reared up, I planted my foot on the underside and kicked it up and off the stairs. Gods, but it was heavy - which explains why it fell like a stone, crashing in a tangle of metallic bits and pieces at the bottom of the stairs. Carefully, I ventured down towards the wrecked device but, apart from some spasmodic twitches of its legs, it seemed I'd permanently damaged it.

The right hand corridor led down to a room that was protected by another couple of those spider-things. Fortunately, they weren't particularly smart and I was able to separate them so that they couldn't both attack me at the same time and deal with them that way. Close combat in those wide Dwemeri corridors suited me just fine - I had plenty of room to swing my axe. The room was brightly lit by those strange glass tubes, and they clearly illuminated the ragged parchment laying on one of the shelves. Picking it up, I studied it carefully.

The fragile velum was covered in strange symbols and words written in a Dwemeric script I didn't recognize. Unlike the angular script that adorned the doors - a script that most people could "read" but not understand - these characters were more rounded and seemed to bear no relationship whatsoever to the other script. The written words seemed to be referring to the odd drawing on the parchment - a mass of lines and strange symbols contained in the outline of what appeared to be a Type I animalcule. Hopefully, this was the "blueprint" that Mallam Ryon wanted.

I searched the rest of the ruins; the only thing of interest I found was a book entitled 'The Chronicles of Nchuleft'. This seemed to be an account of a meeting at this place between two 'Lords' of the Dwemer. The book seemed very interesting, but this was hardly the time or place to be reading it. Tucking the book into my satchel, I made my way out of the ruins into the fresh air of the Grazelands. I'd obviously spent much longer in the ruins that I'd thought - the sun was sinking slowly towards the horizon. With a sigh, I cast Void-Walk and returned to Balmora to rest for the night.

Since today is 'Tales and Tallows'; I need to make sure that any business is finished well before sundown. To that end, I forwent my usual morning meal and got myself over to Sadrith Mora and the Council Hall as quickly as I could. Mallam Ryon was delighted with the schematics, chuckling happily as he poured over them. Finally, he seemed to remember I was still standing there, and presented me with my reward.

This took the form of one of those conical helmets that the House guards wore, and it had some very powerful enchantments built into it. If the helms worn by the guards were of similar power, I was glad I'd never tangled with them. Mallam seemed terribly preoccupied with the schematics and appeared to have no more tasks for me. However, there were still chores that the Mouths wanted me to do.

"Do you feel up to a little travelling?" Galos Mathendis asked. When I said that I didn't object, he asked a most peculiar question, "Can you swim at all?"

"Good," he said when I replied in the affirmative. "Hopefully these potions and scrolls mean that you won't have to, but it's possible that they might run out at an inopportune moment. Now, here is a message that I want delivered to Divayth Fyr. He lives at Tel Fyr... here, let me mark it on your map for you."

I stood on the low promontory of land that extended from the docks and looked out across Zafirbel Bay. Through the low-laying mist I could see the hazy humps of the small islands and rocks that made approaching Sadrith Mora so difficult. Although I had the scrolls and potions that Mathendis had given me, I also had a water-walking spell of my own and a small number of restore magicka potions. So it was with some care that I spoke the cantrip that would allow me to break all natural laws. "Rigor unda" I said, and then stepped out onto the shimmering surface. The salt-water rippled disconcertingly, but my foot didn't sink through the surface. Emboldened, I took a few tentative steps across the Bay, and then started to run - for the sheer pleasure of it.

Wide concentric circles extended outwards from where I ran, the water supporting me exactly like the solid surface it wasn't. I concentrated on the shape of the spell in my mind, sparing what little was left to track my position and surroundings. There are a couple of spells you need to keep a close eye on - water-walking being one of them. It can be embarrassing, not to mention fatal, if you don't pay attention and the spell collapses while you're in deep water and far from land. Noticing that the intricate form of the spell was starting to fray, I angled towards a small islet - feeling the crunch of gritty sand underfoot just as the whole convoluted edifice of the spell collapsed.

That suited me just fine, I was panting from the twin exertions of running and maintaining the spell. A few moments rest would solve the first problem, while I had magicka enough to recast the spell without having to resort to a potion. When I'd recovered, I spoke the cantrip again and set off towards Tel Fyr.

And so I went, moving from islet to islet to rest and recover, using my restore magicka potions as sparingly as possible. In this way, it wasn't too long before I saw a familiar sight looming out of the mist in front of me. Remember what I said about paying attention? That's why I stumbled ashore - spluttering and cursing from my unexpected immersion in the waters of Zafirbel Bay. Squelching and dripping, I crossed the little wooden bridge that joined two islands together, passing under the intricate arch and banner proclaiming that this was, indeed, Tel Fyr.

In front of me rose a Telvanni Tel, smaller than the ones I'd seen in Branora or Sadrith Mora but older and more intricate than either of those edifices. Espying a couple of conveniently large rocks, I darted behind them and changed into drier clothing - fortunately, the backpack is waterproof. Then, looking slightly more presentable, I entered the tower.

"Can I help you?" a soft voice inquired from the chamber opposite me.

"I hope so Muthsera," I replied politely. "I'm looking for Divayth Fyr."

"Oh, Father is upstairs," she replied (I fancied that I could hear the capital she gave to father). "I do hope you can levitate," she continued, stepping into view from behind the central pillar, "Father is very traditional, and there are no stairs." The Dunmeri female was stunningly beautiful, with masses of black hair cascading around her attractive, yet oddly masculine face. Stammering slightly, I thanked her and headed off up the incline she'd indicated until I came to a round wooden door.

I found myself in a small complex of rooms, none of which contained a living soul. They contained a few other interesting things however. There were some Soul-Stones that might come in handy and a small number of exotic potions that would fetch a fair price. Mindful of the credo of House Telvanni, I made doubly certain I was alone before dropping the Soul-Stones and the potions in my pack. That done, I set about solving the problem of the whereabouts of the Mer I'd come to deliver a message to.

Having ascertained that there were no hidden doors, some instinct made me look up. There, just in front of the door, was a tunnel cut into the roof. Casting levitation, I rose up and stepped carefully onto the solid floor in the upper levels of Tel Fyr.

"Can I help you?" a Dunmeri female asked.

"How did you get up here before me?" I spluttered to the dark-haired woman. She looked puzzled for a moment, and then gave a tinkling laugh.

"Oh, you must have met Beyte downstairs. I'm her sister, Alfe." It was amazing; clad in identical clothing and armor, the two women were mirror images of each other. Identical twins are something of a rarity and I'd never met any before. "You must be looking for Father," she continued. "He's in his study at the end of the hall."

And there he was, bent over a table studying a scroll whilst a retort bubbled and hissed nearby. Book-lined shelves filled the small room of the grey-haired Mer in front of me. Slight of build, and with his long grey hair tied back in the Breton fashion, he wore dark, heavy looking armor that rippled in the candlelight. When he stood and turned to look at me, I actually took a step back.

His eyes burned with a fierce and analytical intellect, and his gaze was transfixing and penetrating - as though you were naught but an interesting specimen for him to examine. Although he stood tall and steady, you could sense the great weight of age on him. But it was neither the fierce scrutiny nor the great age that lined the thin, bearded face that caused me such surprise. It was the eyes themselves: for they, unlike any Dunmer's I've ever seen, were the color of the sky at noon - a fierce harsh blue.

"Yes, I am Divayth Fyr," he replied in a soft voice to my stammered query. "Why do you interrupt my work?

"Have you come to plunder my dungeon," he continued before I could say a word. "Or have you come seeking information on the Divine Disease? Hmmm, I doubt you've come to letch at my daughters, although anything is possible in this day and age."

"I have a message for you," I said, extending the parchment, "from Galos Mathendis."

He took the scroll from me and broke the seal, turning away from me as he scanned the lines written there. As he did, I looked around the study. As I've said, books lined the shelves on either side of the room and were piled high on his workbench. Small dishes of alchemical ingredients covered one end of the bench while, next to them, an alchemical apparatus of bewildering complexity bubbled and hissed. Two small silver dishes stood on the work-surface - one containing a small amulet and the other containing a thumb-sized grey sliver of stone. I started to read the titles of the books stacked on the bench.

"No," Divayth Fyr said.

"I'm sorry?" I hadn't been paying attention, one of the books in particular had caught my eyes and I was stunned to see it there.

"My reply to the message. It's 'No'," Divayth repeated.

"Are you still here messenger?" he asked when I showed no signs of leaving.

"May I ask you a question Muthsera?" I asked. He nodded, so I continued, "Why did you ask if I'd come to plunder your dungeon?"

"A small conceit of mine," he said with a smirk. "I have accumulated many treasures in my lifetime and all are stored here in Tel Fyr. They are well guarded but, well, anyone who can get them is welcome to keep them. I've had a number of takers over the centuries, but no one has succeeded so far. It helps relieve the ennui."

"And the Divine Disease?"

"Corprus," he said flatly. "A debilitating and virulent disease that you've no doubt encountered..." (Here I thought of that poor soul in Berwen's shop and nodded) "...on your travels. Whilst the majority of victims fall prey to the most hideous transformations, some do not - although I've had no chance to study any who haven't. There is a mystical component to the virus that I haven't managed to isolate and study... yet. I also seek a cure for the affliction, since all those who are infected are doomed to an eternity of madness and disfigurement, or worse."

Divayth Fyr wouldn't be drawn further on the subject, leaving me to wonder what could be worse than madness, mutation, and death. I could see the ancient wizard was growing impatient, so I asked my final question, "Is that a tome of ancient knowledge on your desk? I've heard of them but never..."

"Here," he said, sweeping the leather-bound book off the desk and thrusting it into my hands. "Take it, keep it, it's of no further use to me. Now, I have more important things to do than stand here talking." And, with that, he turned his back on me and returned to reading the scroll on his desk.

Clutching my prize, I made my farewells - which Divayth ignored completely - and backed into the antechamber. I breathed out softly, unable to believe my luck. An actual, genuine 'Tome of Ancient Knowledge', thrust into my hands and dismissed as being of no further use to the owner (which gave me an uncomfortable understanding of just how powerful a sorcerer Divayth Fyr was). A very small number of these ancient works still exist and, as far as I knew, all were in the possession of the Mages Guild. Written in their pages were the spells of old, many forgotten or utilized in a newer, weaker form. Tales of yore told of how mages spent years studying them, slowly learning the powerful cantrips written inside. A boon, then, for an aspiring mage to be handed one in such a cavalier fashion.

The violet mist that accompanies a recall spell cleared from around me, revealing the Telvanni Council Chambers. I stepped over to Galos Mathendis and spoke the message that the wizard had given me.

"Ah well," Galos sighed. "It's not surprising, although Master Aryon was hoping for a different response this time.

"Serjo Fyr has absolutely no interest in the internal politics of the House," he explained when I asked. "In fact, he has no interest in the House at all. Although there are none who would deny him the position of Arch-Magister, or even that of a Master, Divayth has remained a Wizard for at least two and a half thousand years."

"Two and a half thousand!" I exclaimed.

"Oh yes," Galos said with a smile. "Maybe as long as three thousand, nobody is sure any more. I suppose we could ask the Keepers of the Records in Port Telvannis if we really wanted to know."

"Just how old is Divayth Fyr?" I asked.

The answer was a shock and a marvel. "He was born sometime in the late First Era or very early in the Second." I blinked, that would make him somewhere on the order of four thousand years old. "True," Galos said, "but there are secrets of longevity known only to this House, and to which you may be initiated if you rise high enough in rank. However, there are some secrets known only to Serjo Fyr - and he is not that willing to share them.

"Now, I have another small task for you," Galos told me. "Perhaps not as interesting as the last, but somewhat more vital. While you were gone, a runner arrived from Tel Vos. It seems that the Apothecary Andil has run out of potions to cure Blight. I need you to obtain three potions and get them to him as quickly as possible: that should hold him until the next shipment arrives. Mind, he will not accept homemade potions, so you'll have to get them from a supplier.

"There is one more thing before you go Sudhendra Vahl," he said. "We have been very impressed with the work you've done for us so far. So, it is our honor and privilege to promote you to the rank of Lawman, effective immediately."

I thanked the assembled Mouths profusely before stepping out of the chamber and dropping the five hundred Septims Galos had given me for delivering the message into my purse. Lawman was a respectable rank and I was more than pleased with my new station in life. News, as always, travelled quickly in the Telvanni community, and Dalyne Arvel was quick to congratulate me when I spoke to her.

Dalyne Arvel was, once again, a goldmine of information and told me that a Breton named Pierlette Rostorard maintains a small shop near Wolverine Hall, and usually has some cure Blight potions in stock. This proved to be the case, and I sold the woman all my spare potions in exchange for four phials of the oily-looking potion to cure Blight and some four hundred and ninety Septims. Three of the potions were for Andil, one I intended to keep for myself in case I needed it.

Since the day was growing older by the moment and I intended to be behind locked doors well before nightfall, I cast Void-Walk for Ald'ruhn and sought out Delas Mrania in the Mages Guildhall there. She readily sold me a translocation spell for Tel Vos. After memorizing the spell, I stepped into the dusty atmosphere of Ald'ruhn and spoke aloud the words.

There was a peculiar twisting sensation, and then I found myself standing partway up a hill looking at the massive stone blocks of the Imperial fort above Vos. Now that I was able to get a closer look at it, I could see that huge roots had burst through some of the walls. The reason for this became obvious as soon as I stepped into the main courtyard. Twisting up from deeply sunken and massive roots rose a Telvanni mushroom tower. The thick, seamless shaft soared overhead through spirals of roots and protruding branches until it terminated in a massive cap. Where in, I guessed, lived the Telvanni Mage-Lord who ruled over this area.

A guard directed me towards the 'Service Tower' where, he said, I would find the Apothecary. Gaining access to the tower was somewhat difficult, and required me to levitate onto a rampart before I could enter. Inside, the tower was a busy bustle of noise as various merchants traded with the locals. Andil was easy enough to find, and he quickly took the potions from me and gave me three very high quality restore health and three restore fatigue potions in recompense.

I returned to the Telvanni Council Chambers, where Galos Mathendis thanked me and paid me five hundred Septims for delivering the potions.

"We have no further tasks for you Sera Vahl," Galos said in response to my questions. "Perhaps it's time that you sought a patron who will further your career within the House."

"Can you, perhaps, suggest someone who would be willing to be my patron?" I asked.

Galos looked at me for a while, and then said, "I've been looking to return to my research into the correlation between Daedric Shrines and Dwemeri ruins: a subject I've neglected for a long time while I've acted as Mouth for Master Aryon.

"My master is quite progressive as Mage-Lords go," he continued speculatively. "It is possible that he'd be willing to be your patron. And, if you please him, he might promote you to being his Mouth - which would allow me to get back to my research." Lowering his voice and stooping to whisper in my ear, he added, "I happen to know that my Master is seeking some Daedra Skin. He would look kindly on anyone who could supply him with some."

Thanking him, I made a beeline for the shop of Anis Seloth. She seemed surprised that I wanted such a rare and expensive item, but readily sold me a small piece of the grayish leathery material for one hundred and sixty-five Septims.

"I'm sorry Sera Vahl," Fara said, "but we have no rooms available for tonight. I've been turning patrons away for the last couple of hours. I believe that even the Gateway is full, although I suspect Angaredhel would find you somewhere to sleep since you solved his little problem."

I didn't fancy trying to sleep in some storeroom so I headed towards Wolverine Hall as quickly as I could, cursing monotonously the whole way at my own stupidity. I should have known that, tonight of all nights, there would be no rooms at any Inn.

"Walk you to Wolverine Hall ma'am," the legionnaire near the bank said. "It's getting somewhat late and you don't want to be outside in the dark... Alone... Not tonight," he finished with a shiver. I thanked him and we hurried quickly into the warmth of the garrison.

Thankfully, the Guild-Guide was willing to return me to Balmora, despite the gathering gloom outside. I ran, all dignity forgotten, through the deserted streets of Balmora, throwing myself through the doorway of my safe-house as soon as I'd got the damn' thing unlocked and unwarded. Slamming it shut behind me, I sat down with my back to the wood - panting heavily. Damn', but that had been close. Another ten, fifteen minutes and it would have been dark.

Listening to the wind howling outside (at least, I hoped it was the wind), I sat huddled on the bed with all the blankets around me, thinking about Mathendis' words. I'd never belonged to anything before, never even thought I needed to belong to anything. Yet Great House Telvanni had welcomed me, a stranger in a strange land. Admittedly, the welcome hadn't been particularly warm or friendly, but it had been a welcome nonetheless. And, despite my initial reservations, I had been treated well. True, I'd been sent into some rough spots - but that was also true of the Fighters Guild and, at least here, I wasn't covertly working for a criminal organization. And those tricky missions: well, I'd been extremely well rewarded for undertaking them, hadn't I?

I knew that I'd get no sleep tonight, what with the winds whistling around the building's square tower like fiends from Oblivion. And, of course, thinking that, I soon drifted off.

"Serjo Demnevanni," I said, bowing deeply before the mage. "I know that you are very busy, and I was wondering if there was anything you needed done."

Baladas Demnevanni regarded me from under his bushy eyebrows, and I swear I saw a twinkle of amusement in his eye as he replied, "I do have a small chore for you, if you're so minded."

Assuring him that I was at his disposal, I listened as he detailed what he needed me to do. "My research is based, as you probably know, on the mystery that is the Dwemer. There are three books I need to continue one particular avenue of investigation. These books are 'The Chronicles of Nchuleft', 'Antecedents of Dwemer Law', and a book called 'Fire and Faith' by Nchunak. Antecedents and Nchunak's book should be readily available - although you'll probably have to scour the bookshops for them. As for the Chronicles, I have no idea where you might find a copy of that."

"I happen to have 'Chronicles of Nchuleft'" right here," I said, digging the well-preserved volume out of my backpack. For the first and only time, I saw Baladas surprised.

"What... how... where did you acquire this?" he spluttered, fairly grabbing the book out of my hand. "And in such pristine condition too."

"I had occasion to be in the ruins at Nchuleft recently," I said. "I happened across the book on a shelf and took it to study. I will be back as soon as I've tracked down the other books."

Not that Baladas was listening; he was already deeply engrossed in the small volume - his quill flying back and forth over a blank sheet of vellum as he made copious notes. I knew one bookseller, Dorisa Darvel, in Balmora. She had quite a stock of old books and, if she didn't have what I was looking for in stock, she might be able to suggest where I could get copies.

"Nchunak's 'Fire and Faith?" Dorisa said, tapping her fingers on the counter. "I'm sure I've a copy of that one somewhere. Let me have a look." With that, she came out from behind her counter and started rummaging around on the shelves. Not finding what she was looking for, she then opened up a chest and started fetching books out of that.

"Ah-ha!" she said triumphantly, holding a slim, orange-bound book aloft. "I knew I had a copy somewhere dear. Now, what was the other book you wanted?"

"'Antecedents of Dwemer Law'," I repeated.

She looked crest-fallen, "Oh, I'm sure I haven't a copy of that. It's quite a rare book you know. Yes, quite the rarity." Suddenly, she brightened. "Jobasha!" she exclaimed.

"Your pardon?" I asked.

"Jobasha's Rare Books," she said happily. "Jobasha is a Khajiiti trader in Vivec City who specializes in extremely rare books. He's almost bound to have a copy. You'll find his shop on the Waistworks of the Foreign Quarter Canton."

Thanking her, I handed over the sixty-five Septims she wanted for the book and headed towards the Mages Guild. This time I was sure I wasn't imagining it; my reception at the Mages Guild in both Balmora and Vivec City was distinctly frosty. And, for the life of me, I couldn't understand why - I'd had virtually no dealings with the Guild, other than the usual travel service they offer to everyone.

The plaza of the Foreign Quarter Canton was a hive of activity. Directly opposite, as I stepped out of the Mages Guild, was a building from which the sound of a hammer on metal could be heard clearly above the din. Further down the plaza, stood the imposing bulk of the main Guildhall of the Guild of Fighters. Into every conceivable nook and cranny were crammed vendors selling their wares - their cries mixing with the hubbub of the crowd. And what a crowd: well-dressed Bretons and Khajiiti walked in groups or alone, flitting from vendor to vendor and shop to shop. Amidst them, ramrod straight, were the local guards, clad in ornate gilded armor - the stern faces of their helms turning this way and that as they scanned the crowd.

Pausing only to purchase a small cone of fried Ash Yams, I headed towards the massive double doors at the eastern end of the plaza. I'm not ashamed to admit that I gawped like the tourist I was, impressed by the massive stone buttresses and overarching bronze roof high overhead and quite overwhelmed by the crowds. The doors swung open soundlessly as I approached, and I stepped out onto the walkway - stopping dead at the sight before me.

I was on the upper level of a huge pyramidal building and, in front of me, two more similar structures of slightly lesser height rose up from the rippling canal between them. Arching between them at the upper level was a colossal stone arch: it took me a moment or two to realize that it was a bridge - so large was the structure. A huge banner, many stories high, hung from under the bridge and flapped thunderously in the stiff breeze. And, off in the distance beyond these two buildings, I could make out a third, and a fourth - all interconnected by enormous bridges. Surely no hand of Man or Mer could have constructed so cyclopean a city.

"Impressive, isn't it?" a hollow-sounding voice said from behind me.

"I've never seen anything like it," I said, turning to face the speaker. "Sir," I added as I found myself face-to-face with the stern metallic features of one of the guards. His thick purple cape swayed in the breeze as suspicious eyes examined me from behind the helm.

"Well, we'll have no loitering here n'wah," the guard said, slapping a heavy-looking mace against his palm. "Move along."

Dipping my head and pretending I hadn't heard the softly added "scum" the guard had appended to the end of his instructions, I stepped into the Upper Waistworks. This too was a hive of business, although the patrons (and vendors) here were less well dressed than those on the plaza. However, the Ordinator had spoilt the joys of sightseeing and I now wished to conclude my business with as much speed as I could manage.

I really didn't understand these people: they could be as sweet as Moon Sugar one moment and right bastards the next. I'd become somewhat enured to the continual "outlander" comments directed at me since I noticed that nearly everyone was called the same - although I was baffled as to why they'd call me, a fellow Dunmer, an outlander. "Fecher" was another phrase I'd come to know and loathe, but endured since it basically meant outlander anyway. I'd also been called "n'wah" a few times - I didn't know what it meant, but I had a damn' good idea.

Jobasha turned out to be a likeable enough fellow, far more concerned with his books than he was with anything else. "Jobasha has a copy of 'Antecedence of Dwemer Law if Dark Elf interested," he stated in response to my question. "Jobasha has many rare and difficult to get books. It's what Jobasha do."

I perused the bookshelves, noting a complete set of 'A Brief History of Empire' and an almost complete set of 'The Chronicles of the Wolf Queen' along with many other books. While I had no interest in the former, I would have liked to have read about the Wolf Queen Potema: unfortunately, the incomplete set was far too expensive for me to justify. Finally, I found the book I was looking for on a shelf at the back of the shop. The folio-sized volume had certainly seen better days; the leather binding was faded and scuffed. However, it seemed to be complete and Jobasha was willing to let it go, after a little haggling, for twenty-seven Septims.

Translocating to Gnisis, I made my way back into Arvs-Drelen. "Well, well," Baladas said, turning the books over in his hands, "so you managed to get the books I wanted? Somehow I rather suspected you would. I've a few things here that will make a suitable reward."

The 'suitable reward' turned out to be somewhat of an understatement. The amulet, belt, and ring he gave me all carried intriguing enchantments - the ring, in particular, would come in very handy since it was ensorcelled with a spell called 'Ondusi's Lock-Splitter' (a spell that could open most common locks). In addition, he also gave me a pair of shoes that he said 'looked the right size for me'. They were of exquisite manufacture, made of soft creamy leather with delicate stitching. More importantly, however, they sang with that single pure note I've come to associate with an enchantment that is continuous. Such enchantments are extortionately expensive, and are usually associated with ancient artifacts of great power.

"Now, let us discuss the real reason you came to see me," Baladas said as I examined my newest acquisitions. "What," he said as I looked at him, feigning surprise, "you think I accept that you came all the way from Tel Vos just to run an errand or two for me?"

"Well," I said sheepishly, "actually there are two things. Firstly, Master Aryon would like me to convince you to join the council. Secondly, I got the impression you knew far more about the Dwemer than you told me."

"Ahh yes, the Dwemer," he mused. "My particular area of interest. If I remember, you wanted to know three things. One: what happened to the Dwemer, two: if anyone can read Dwemeric, and three: you wanted information on Dwemer ruins and artifacts.

"My original reply to the question 'can anyone read Dwemeric' was true but disingenuous. The truth of the matter is, many of the books were written in Aldmeris, the script of the High Elves, as well as Dwemeric. Theoretically it's possible to work out a method of translating Dwemer text.

"If you've been into Nchuleft, or any other ruin, you'll have encountered Dwemer artifacts - the animalcules that usually guard them. We have no idea how they function of course, or why they're still function millennia after their creation. There are other artifacts too, certain axes or swords - but the Dwemer weren't big on magic as we understand it, although they do seem to have had techniques which mimic enchanting an item.

"As to the disappearance of the Dwemer," he continued, "I have a theory..." Baladas then proceeded to tell me his theory about the disappearance of the Dwemer. To be perfectly honest, I only understood every third word, and only those if they were words like 'and', 'the', 'if', and 'Dwemer'. However, I nodded politely and scribbled a few notes in my journal for form's sake.

"Aryon is a fool," Baladas told me, after he'd finished explaining his theories. "He believes I'm a modernist like him."

"A modernist?" I asked.

"Yes," he explained. "Aryon believes, truly believes, that Great House Telvanni will benefit if we work towards closer relations with the Empire, like those Hlaalu turncoats. The 'old guard': Neloth and Arch-Magister Gothren want no closer ties with the Empire than are absolutely necessary. However, Aryon thinks that the Empire is good for us. It's his fault we have to put up with that monstrosity of a place, Wolverine Hall.

"What he doesn't understand," he added bitterly, "is that the Empire consumes all those it conquers. Look at the Nords of Skyrim, or the Orcs. Many of them have forgotten the old ways, the old religions, and ape the Cyrodiilic ways or worship their 'Nine Divines'. And that's what he wants for us...

"You know," he said suddenly, as though reaching a decision, "perhaps I will join the council for a century or two. See if I can't put a stop to his little game. Perhaps, if you're not too loyal to your patron and sponsor, it's a matter we could discuss at some later date?"

"I would not be adverse to that," I responded carefully. "I have no great love for the Empire, but I'm hardly in a position to influence Telvanni policy."

"True, quite true," he chuckled. "But, I have the suspicion that there is far more to you than meets the eye Sudhendra Vahl. With the right people supporting you, you could go far..." He seemed to drift of into a reverie. Then, abruptly, he spoke again. "Tell Master Aryon that I'll join the council."

As I stood outside Arvs-Drelen, I shivered. Baladas Demnevanni was involving me in politics I really didn't understand. His ambition for me was greater than my ambition for me if I'd understood what he'd hinted at. The other thing that made me shiver was his casual comment that he'd join the council 'for a century or two'. The span of time Telvanni Mage-Lords worked with would take some getting used to.

"Excellent, you've done extremely well," Aryon crowed delightedly when I gave him the news. "Now, perhaps, we can get something accomplished." (If only you knew, I thought). "Well, you kept your side of the bargain, so I will keep mine.

"You are now officially named as my Mouth," he said solemnly. "From this time forward, you speak with my authority in the council and are authorized to enter into such treaties and negotiations as you see fit, subject to my final approval. Here," he concluded, handing me a silver staff, "is the traditional symbol of a Telvanni Mouth, the Silver Staff of Peace."

After I'd thanked him, he fetched a book from a nearby shelf and opened it. "Your first task is a simple, yet risky one," he said. "Vos and, by extension Tel Vos, are supported by the vast deposits of Wickwheat that grow wild in the Grazelands and by the output from the nearby Mudan-Mul Egg-Mine. Unfortunately, the queen has contracted a Blight disease and the mine has become too dangerous for the miners to enter. Your task is to enter the mine and cure the Queen.

"Unfortunately, a simple potion won't work - getting the Queen to drink it would be next to impossible even if it were not so aggressive because of the infection. No, I'm afraid your options are either a scroll or a spell. I have here a complex but effective spell I'll teach you. However, I would recommend travelling to Gnisis and speaking to the Hetman there - I believe he has a stock of scrolls - just in case."

I didn't fancy travelling to Gnisis again quite so soon, so I paid special attention as Aryon guided me through the spell. Finally I felt I had it mastered and Aryon gave me directions to the mine. Apparently, it was just a short way off to the west and there was a short cut through the cellars of Tel Vos.

Fool that I am, I opted for the short cut. Of that journey I'll say little, other than to advise you: if a Telvanni says you can visit their cellar - smile politely and walk away. The rats down there were the very least of my problems and, when I emerged, panting and shaken into the sunlight, I had to drink several healing potions before I felt I could go any further.

As promised, the mine was but a short walk from the cellar exit and I knew, the moment I stepped inside, that something wasn't right here. The thick sulphurous smell was still there, but there was also a sweet sickly smell, like meat that has gone rancid. And the Blight had permeated the mine, every creature from the normally docile Workers to the heavily armored Guardians seemed eager to add me to their diet. Hacking and slashing my way deeper into the mine, it was a humble Forager that nearly killed me.

The worm-like creature had been hiding behind a rock, and the first I knew of its presence was a sharp pain as the fangs ripped through the knee-joint of my greaves. Turning, I stamped on it as hard as I could, driving the spike on the axe down into it. The bite was a minor injury, and nothing to concern myself with. Or so I thought.

I had barely gone a dozen paces when an unusual lethargy descended on me. In seconds I was simultaneously shivering and sweating, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold my axe. My vision blurred, doubled, and then redoubled while my throat became as dry as the Molag Amur itself. I was so weary; surely a little rest couldn't hurt?

"**WAKE UP!**" I screamed at myself as I sagged against a convenient wall. Collapsing to the floor, I fumbled with the flap on my pack with hands that seemed determined not to obey. I could barely make out the script on the potion bottle as I dragged it out of the pack with arms that seemed to weight as much as mountains...

I coughed; jerking upright as the potion did its work, cleansing me of the Blight disease the Forager had infected me with. I proceeded with a great deal more caution after that, still feeling nauseous despite the potion's effects. Anything that wasn't obviously the Kwama Queen was hit, from a distance, by a spell - I had no more potions to hand and I wasn't taking any chances. Finally, physically and magically drained, I arrived at the Queen's chamber.

After drinking down my last restore magicka potion - this little jaunt was turning out to be extremely expensive in terms of potions - I relaxed as best as I could before sketching the shapes of Aryon's spell in the air. As the symbols slowly faded, I could see a spiral of blue light swirling around the Queen. The creature stopped threshing about, and I could just about make out that the blisters and sores that adorned its body were fading.

I made my way wearily back to Tel Vos, this time avoiding the cellars and taking the long way around. Fortunately, I had a levitation potion to hand; otherwise I would have used the last dregs of my magicka reaching the top of the tower. Master Aryon was pleased when I told him his spell had worked, and rewarded me with a book that he said would help me understand alteration spells.

Thanking him, I set a Mark in his chambers and then returned to Balmora, where I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

My first job, after breaking my fast at the 'Eight Plates', was to deposit some of my money into the bank. I was bemused to learn that my account now had some two and a half thousand Septims in it: more money than I've ever had. That done, I left the bank and spoke the words "Ut locus Ego eram pro" that would take me back to Aryon's chambers atop Tel Vos.

"Sudhendra Vahl," Aryon beamed, "I trust you are well? All of Vos is talking about you, and how you risked your life to cure the Queen. You've become somewhat of a local celebrity. While they may be content to laude you, I have another task for you. This one you'll find somewhat less onerous, trust me.

"If I am to sponsor you, I need to know that you have mastered at least the basic spells a Telvanni needs. So, I'd like you to demonstrate that you can cast a fireball, that you can levitate without the use of potions or charms, and that you can cast the spell Recall. Since I already know you can cast Mark, you'll just need to demonstrate you can Recall, again without potions or charms. This guard will accompany you to the lower chamber, where he will watch as you cast Recall."

I followed Turedus downstairs into the lower chamber and took a moment to compose myself. I was slightly annoyed that I was being made to perform like this, but I could understand Master Aryon's reasons for asking if I could do what, to a Telvanni, amounted to magic for beginners. Repeating the cantrip I'd already used this morning, I made what must have been the shortest Recall on record.

"Excellent," Aryon said. "Now, levitation if you wouldn't mind."

Smirking, I started to speak the words of the spell, stopping when Master Aryon shook his head. "No, no, and thrice no," he said. "Mumbling spells is perfectly fine when you have the luxury of plenty of time, but that's not the best way to do a spell. I know that the Imperials teach this method, but it simply won't do. Look, let me show you."

For the next couple of hours, Master Aryon patiently taught me how to visualize the spell-construct in my head without incanting a spell, and how to focus the Arcane Forces to sketch the shape in the air in front of me to give the spell added power. When we'd finished, I had amply demonstrated my ability to cast every spell I knew, and learned how to shape and manipulate the streams of magicka to formulate my spells. (I must admit, however, that I still had - and still do have - a preference for the old Cyrodiilic incantations. I was just very careful not to use them around any Telvanni).

"Very well done," he said when the lesson ended. "I have a book here, by Zurin Arctus, which will teach you how to use magic in combat situations. I think you deserve it."

I thanked Aryon and took the book with me down to the Varo Tradehouse. As I munched my way through an excellent meal of fried fish, I read the first few chapters of 'The Art of War'. My patron hadn't been mistaken when he said I'd find the book useful - in just the first chapter, I found a few tricks that would help me use destructive magic more efficiently. Finishing off my tisane, I nodded my thanks to the proprietor and then carefully formed the shape of a Recall spell in my mind. Almost instantly, I found myself back in Master Aryon's chambers.

Master Aryon was talking to a shimmering sphere of white light. "No, I quite understand Muthsera Faram. I will take care of it. In fact, the right person for the job has just arrived." Making a small gesture, he dismissed the sphere and turned to me.

"The Hlaalu are making one of their infrequent grabs for Odirniran," he explained. "Here, let me show you where it is on your map..." We spread the map out on the table, and Master Aryon pointed to the peninsula of land at the extreme southwestern end of the island. "As you can see, Odirniran dominates the headland and gives a superb view of any sea borne vessel approaching from the east. Hlaalu would dearly love to get their hands on it since it would deprive Great House Telvanni of much of our knowledge of Great House Hlaalu's smuggling operations in that area.

"I want you to travel to Odirniran as quickly as possible and protect Milyn Faram. I trust you'll deal harshly with those Hlaalu scum?"

Resolving to ask Master Aryon about his attitudes to the Hlaalu - given that they were the Great House most closely allied with the Empire, and Baladas had said that Master Aryon wished to forge closer ties with the Cyrodiils - I prepared to translocate to Tel Branora. And, of course, that was the first time I managed to screw up the spell! I had the shape of the spell formed in my mind and was just preparing to enable it when the whole structure twisted and deformed, collapsing completely. So, rather embarrassingly, I had to speak the words of the spell to travel to my destination.

There's little to tell of my journey north: the usual problems with the aggressive wildlife that infests the island. I must be getting better at this fighting lark since I had little or no problems dealing with them. So it was that I came to Odirniran.

This was the same sort of domed building as Arvs-Drelen; a style I'd been informed was 'Velothi'. As with many of these places, the building had been 'submerged' in the living rock by some Art long forgotten. The door wasn't bolted or warded, and I was able to enter with no problems. Of course, my problems started almost immediately thereafter.

Master Aryon's instructions had been to locate Milyn Faram and find out how many of the Hlaalu had invested his tower. It was, as plans go, eminently sensible and it's a real shame I didn't have a chance to put it into operation. All of these Velothi-style buildings have a vestibule, a sort of small outer chamber that opens onto the inner corridors. I can only assume that they are intended as an area where the master of the tower can meet with visitors or traders. Since the structure of the building was so similar to Arvs-Drelen, I may have been a little overconfident in my approach.

I'd no sooner stepped into the inner corridor and looked around to see which way to go than a scruffily dressed woman stepped around a corner to my left. We spotted each other at the same time and, as she rushed at me, I struggled to draw my sword. I managed to get my blade up just in time, and there was an echoing 'clang' as metal met metal. This, of course, alerted another of the Hlaalu scum who was in the room around the corner and he came running to assist.

Now I had a major problem for the corridor was just wide enough for the two of them to simultaneously attack me. Fortunately, the man was armed with nothing more offensive than a dagger - which my armor turned quite nicely. But it was only a matter of time before he got in a stroke that my armor wouldn't turn, and then I'd be in trouble. Or, more accurately, more trouble: the woman with the sword was a well-trained fighter and it was all I could do to block her strikes. Retaliation was out of the question.

"Coward!" the man screamed as I broke off from combat and raced down the corridor away from them. Light armor meant that I was slightly swifter than they were, and all I needed was a few seconds grace. As they rounded the corner, they came face to face with a Telvanni Mouth, full of righteous anger and fully ready for them.

"Obscurum successio" I chanted as they came into view. A cloud of greenish vapor enveloped them and, from inside the obscuring cloud came screams of anguish. The cloud cleared quickly, and the two Hlaalu were once more revealed to me. I, however, was not revealed to them.

Milky white cataracts covered their eyes as a result of the spell and they hurled imprecations as they groped and staggered. I took little pride and no pleasure in killing them; it was too much like butchery for that. Having cleansed the gore from my blade, I made my way back down the corridor towards where they'd been hiding - only this time, I was as careful and as quiet as I could be.

It was a wise tactic for; in the large chamber at the end of the corridor, a spell-caster from House Hlaalu awaited me. He had a fondness for spells from the school of illusion, and the whole of my right arm went numb when I got caught in the backwash of one of his paralyzation spells. It was something of a standoff, he wouldn't come out of the room he was in and I certainly wasn't going to go in while he was throwing such dangerous spells around. There was a certain amount of badinage and name-calling going back and forth along with the spells.

"Telvanni filth," he yelled. "Come in and get me. If you dare."

I closed my eyes and concentrated, drawing on the forces swirling around me as I carefully constructed the shape of the spell in my mind. Opening my eyes, I carefully traced the complex pattern of "phasmatis" in the air with my forefinger. Swirling motes of dust gathered directly in front of me and slowly formed into a stern, matriarchal figure. One of the Hlaalu's spells splashed against the wall nearby, and the ancestral spirit responded instantly. The stern, yet friendly, features melted away to reveal the ghastly visage beneath as the fingers extended and glowed with eldritch fire. Sweeping away from me and into the room, the spirit I'd summoned went forth to wreak bloody revenge.

And retribution most dire it must have been, if the spell-caster's screams and cries were aught to go by. I shuddered and flinched as a particularly brilliant flash lit the room and the corridor I stood in. After that, a sudden silence descended. Taking a steadying breath, I stepped into the chamber, and screamed loudly as a hand clutched my leg.

The bloody ruin of the spell-caster glared up at me, his face reddened and blistered where it wasn't burned black. He hissed some imprecation at me but it was too soft for me to hear and his passing prevented me from asking him to repeat it. Not that it would have been particularly illuminating if I'd had the chance. Carefully disengaging myself from his clutching hand, I stepped back and surveyed the chamber. It seemed to be some sort of living area, possibly for the tower's servants. The Hlaalu had used it as a staging area, and I wondered why they'd not proceeded further into Odirniran.


	6. Looking For Work

I soon found the reason why. Back from the chamber, the corridor ran in a tight curve until it ended at a door. Even without casting, I could see the wards on the wooden surface - venomous and vile things that whispered of agonizing pain and lingering death. And that didn't take into account the strangely wrought lock. I was, however, to get another surprise. As I drew close to the door to examine the spells that were woven into the very fabric of the wood, the wards flared and collapsed as, with a heavy clicking sound, the lock unfastened itself. The door, now totally inert, swung open at my touch.

When I stepped through into the dimly lit area beyond, the door swung shut and the lock and wards re-engaged immediately. Which was an impressive bit of magic, but it did leave me trapped on the wrong side of the door with something of a problem. Racing towards me, shouting syllables of some strange language was a bizarre figure clad in dark armor and wielding a vicious-looking mace.

At first sight, the armor appeared to be made of Ebony (a fact which worried me somewhat since the figure was uncommonly fleet of foot despite the huge mass of such armor) but it had odd highlights of red and purple that looked like no Ebony armor I'd ever seen. Then there was the outlandish nature of the being inside the armor. It had the same skin tones as a Dunmer, but had Mannish ears and strangely shaped eyes that, while crimson, seemed to burn with an inner flame. The mouth was much too large for the elongated face, a face covered with whorls and patterns that seemed to be part of the flesh rather than some tattooed design. Topping the head was a topknot of copper-colored hair that streamed behind the figure like a plume as it ran effortlessly towards me.

All of these observations ran through my mind as I readied myself, naked blade drawn back and ready as it approached. The downward arc of the mace was arrested by the upward sweep of my blade - a sweep that I turned into a ferocious slash at the armored chest. Sparks flew, and I almost got my head caved in as a screaming face flickered across the cuirass of the creature in front of me. Ducking under the mace's arc, I stabbed inward with my sword.

Again sparks flew, but this time they were the sparks of lightning from the blade's enchantment. The creature staged, emitting a strange moan as lightning played across the screaming armor. And there was no mistaking it this time - there was an inhuman face screaming in agony, as if of some spirit magically embedded in the dark metal. The armor wasn't enchanted, there was no music from it, and I was at a loss to explain what I saw as I hammered repeatedly at this malevolent being, driving it back towards the pit it had come from.

The armor cracked under my frantic blows, dulling instantly to grey. The effect on the creature was both immediate and astonishing. It dropped its mace and threw back its head, roaring in bestial agony as, starting from the boots upwards it simply turned into powder before my eyes. Almost in the same time it takes to relate, the creature was gone, changed to dust. Odd dust too, for it seemed to be little more than powdered stone of the same shade as the walls: almost as if the being had formed itself from the very fabric of the building.

Milyn Faram, when I finally reached him in the dome atop Odirniran, was a pleasant but eccentric fellow. Firstly he thanked me for dealing with the Hlaalu invaders, and then he started telling me about his research. As far as I could determine, he was experimenting with alternate ways of creating summoning scrolls. It seems that creating a scroll in the traditional way requires the summoning and soul-capture of the creature. The essence, or soul, of the creature is then bound into the fabric of the scroll along with various glyphs of summoning and binding. However, Milyn Faram had been having some success (at least according to him) using actual physical parts of the creature to be summoned rather than parts ineffable and transmundane. Seeing that I was having difficulty following his theories, the Summoner presented me with half-a-dozen scrolls and told me to try them out when I needed them.

Thinking that I'd rather not rely on experimental magic in a pinch, I thanked him before casting Recall and returning to Tel Vos. It was rather later than I'd thought so I took a room at the Sethan Tradehouse for the night.

Master Aryon was in a fine mood this morning, rubbing his hands together gleefully as he thanked me for dealing with the Hlaalu "rebels" that had invaded Odirniran. So that was to be the way of it, eh? "Rebels" - somehow I seriously doubted that. "I've a staff and a book here for you Sudhendra," he said. "The book I'm sure you'll find interesting, but the staff is something rather... experimental. I've managed to bind a soul-trapping spell into the staff but, for some reason, it either doesn't work properly or is exceptionally efficient. And I don't know why. Perhaps you could do some research on it and figure it out?

"Now," he said once I'd thanked him, "you've proven yourself remarkably efficient at getting things done. I like that in those who have my patronage. I have a task of great importance for you: one that, without exaggeration, could be described as vital to Great House Telvanni.

"As you know, the Mages Guild likes to control the teaching of magic throughout the Empire. Great House Telvanni would like to teach magic here on Vvardenfell but the Guild would not allow it. However, there is a clause in the Great Armistice that will allow us to do just that - provided we can get the support of at least one other Great House. Indoril and Dres are too tied up in their own affairs, and Hlaalu wouldn't support us since it isn't profitable to them. Great House Redoran and their damnable honor could be persuaded to support us."

"If you'll pardon me for asking," I asked, "but why is this so important?"

"That's the beauty of it Sudhendra Vahl," he chortled. "Once the Mages Guild sees that we are interested in cooperating with them, they'll accept us and we can use their support to forge closer ties with the Empire. Simple, and elegant isn't it?"

I nodded, thinking to myself that Master Aryon had no real concept of how hard the Mages Guild would fight such a decision. Even I, who'd had only the most peripheral dealings with that stuck-up body of aloof nincompoops, knew that. He, filled with the vision of the future he was creating, continued. "We need the support of at least three of the Redoran councilors. I suggest you start with Serjo Athyn Sarethi; he and I have had dealings before and he is someone who can be trusted.

"There is one other matter that you need to concern yourself with. You'll need to speak to Llunela Hleran as soon as possible. You can find her in the Hermitage beneath the Council Chambers in Sadrith Mora. I suggest you speak to her before undertaking the task in Ald'ruhn."

The Mer wouldn't be drawn on the subject of why this Llunela Hleran wished to see me so I resolved to take his advice and start in Sadrith Mora. There were warrens of tunnels beneath the Telvanni Council Chambers that I'd never suspected existed. Down they snaked through the living rock, terminating in other tunnels or chambers. Finally I found the Hermitage: a huge cavern deep beneath the Council Chambers. There, in the strange flickering light of some huge crystals, I met Llunela Hleran.

"You must be the Outlander Sudhendra Vahl," she said, peering at me through the gloom. "Draw closer Muthsera and let us talk." She made a small gesture, and fire bloomed in a small grate. The dancing flames illuminated a graceful, white haired Mer of considerable years. She smiled and motioned for me to sit while she brewed some tisane.

"You and I need to talk about your stronghold," she said, looking at me through the sweet vapor rising from her cup.

"Stronghold?" I repeated. Llunela went on to explain that most Telvanni acquired a place of their own as soon as they could. Mid-ranking Telvanni used many caves and Velothi dwellings across Vvardenfell's east coast as strongholds. Partially this was because of the traditional Telvanni distain and distrust of others of their House, but mostly it was for the benefit of the Great House. When I queried this, Llunela went on to clarify. The presence of a stronghold consolidated Telvanni power - the influence of a Tel often extending far beyond the imposed boundaries of the land it was constructed on.

"Many strongholds are places seized by members of the House during the early years of our expansion into Vvardenfell," she said. "As such, they are not strictly speaking, legal Telvanni holdings and there have been many Redoran and Hlaalu complaints about that in Grand Council, believe me." Smiling wolfishly, she went on to say, "That's why Master Aryon wishes for your stronghold to be constructed legally and traditionally. To start such a tower, I'll need two strong souls that you'll need to trap into these gems. On the legal side, you'll need to get a construction contract from the Duke Vedam Dren in Ebonheart."

"Strong souls?" I echoed looking at the strange stones she'd given me.

"Yes, strong souls," she said with a smile. "Something like a Golden Saint or a Winged Twilight. Although, to be honest, I've found that Storm Atronach souls work best - for some reason they provide the strongest foundations for a Tel."

She gladly helped when I explained just how confused I was, telling me what I needed to so. "You'll need to find a couple of Storm Atronachs and soul-trap them," she told me, "and they can usually be found near Daedric ruins. However, a far better idea is to learn a spell to summon them, or get you a scroll."

"But what about soul-trapping?" I wailed, feeling completely out of my depth. "I'm no enchanter, and wouldn't know where to begin."

"Get you a soul-trap spell, or a scroll, or an ensorcelled item," she said. "That staff you carry, that would work well." She paused, and then spoke in a quiet voice, "I've heard of a sword that carries a powerful soul-trap enchantment. It's rumored to be in Suran, but you can never be sure with these things. As to the summoning, I'm sure there's a Summoner here in Sadrith Mora that'd sell you a spell."

I looked at the staff Master Aryon had given me and thought about the few Atronachs I'd seen. Massive, hulking things - and this mad woman expected me to hit it with a simple silver staff until it fell over dead? The sword she'd alluded to sounded better and better all the time.

I did, indeed, find a Mer who was willing to sell me a spell to summon a Storm Atronach. It cost quite a bit for him to teach me the spell, but it wasn't that complicated and, thankfully, he was willing to teach me a spoken form of the spell, albeit in Dunmeric. He was willing to sell me some scrolls that would create the soul-trapping effect for me, but the idea of a weapon that would do the work for me was much more appealing. Since the only information I had was that this weapon might be in Suran, I translocated myself to Balmora and then got the silt-strider to Suran.

"I don't know of any sword," Desele said when I asked her about it. "No, wait, there's that belligerent Orc south of town that keeps going on about how his sword is his life. Maybe that's what you're looking for?"

I didn't know if it was or not, but it seemed like a good place to start. I headed out of town and down towards the road that led into the Molag Amur. There were a couple of paths that led off this, into the mountains, and it was at the end of one of these I met the Orc.

You never know what you're going to get when you meet an Orc. They all look brutish and aggressive, with their little eyes and heavy brows, massive muscles and aggressive attitude. Many of them live up to your original perception of them but this one did not.

"Why have you sought me out?" the Orc asked in a cultured but rough voice. "Are you, perhaps, the one I've been waiting for?"

"Who are you, and who have you been waiting for?" I asked.

"Who I am is unimportant," he replied. "If it's a name you must have, call me by the name of my blade. It and I have been together so many years it's difficult to know where one of us ends and the other begins. Yes, that will do."

For the first time, I noticed the naked blade slung across his back. Broad though the Orc was (and made bulkier still by his armor), I could still see the hilt and point of the sword. Black as night it was, and the pommel was inset with small red gems. Around the grip was wound soft brown leather, tied off with black leather twine. Only one of the cross-guards could be seen - it was as black as the rest of the blade but decorated with a fine pattern of golden inlay. Seeing me looking at it, the Orc nodded.

"Yes, that is 'Umbra'," he said. "It has been my boon and my bane to bear it for many a long year. Armies I have led across countless fields of war, laying waste to my foes until Umbra dripped red with their blood. In single combat I've stood and fought many - Man and Mer - and all have fallen before me. Unbowed and undefeated I stand here... and I grow weary of it."

"Weary?" I asked, cautiously.

"Aye," he replied. "Once I had a name, a real name, and was a warlord of my people. Then I found this blade and I was called The Warrior. That was a long count of years ago, and I've forgotten who I was - now all I am is a tired warrior who wishes to find the ultimate peace.

"But there's the rub Dark Elf," he said, laughing bitterly. "All who stand before me in combat inevitably lose. So, I ask again, are you the one I've been waiting for; the one who can stand against me in battle and best me?"

I looked up at the Orc, towering above me in his massive Orcish armor with that blade at his back. "Hmmmm, no. Goodbye."

The blade appeared in his hand as if by magic, and he sneered at me. "You deliberately seek me out? For what purpose if not to take that which makes me what I am? Are you so much a coward?"

As I struggled to get out an answer past my rising anger, he spoke again, softly. "Reconsider your decision Elf. Turn your back on me and I shall surely cut you down before you've taken a step."

"Well," I said brightly as I drew my sword, "since you put it like that... Yes, I'm the one you've been waiting for. Now it's time for you to die."

"Whatever Gods you pray to," 'Umbra' rumbled as he took a step back, "make your peace with them. For one of us will surely die this day."

I took a deep breath and calmed myself. I don't know what mad power keeps shoving me into these situations, but I wasn't about to pray to it - curse it maybe, but not pray. Besides, the Orc actually wanted to die, how much of a fight would he put up?

I barely managed to block his downward blow, my sword singing out and shaking my whole body with the force of the impact. I leapt backwards to avoid a scything cross-cut that would have left me in two parts had it connected, and then managed to block the third blow - even though it drove me to my knees. 'Umbra' pressed down against my blade, letting me know that he could end the fight here and now if he so chose. Then, shaking his head, he stepped back to allow me to my feet.

The black blade sung as it cut through the air, cleaving my chitin shield in twain and cracking the armor covering my left arm. From the excruciating pain that followed, I guessed that the shield and armor weren't the only things broken. Staggering back, I barely managed to bring my sword up and block the next blow. There was a wicked whistling sound and a sharp pain in my left earlobe.

Blinking, I looked at the stub of my sword - the force of the last blow had shattered it several inches from the hilt. The pain in my ear didn't abate and I feared that the shards of my own weapon had drawn blood. 'Umbra' grinned ferally, gripping the hilt of his sword and bringing it up for the killing blow. Blow this for a game of soldiers...

"Aer amo calx" I yelled, back-pedaling as quickly as I could. As I felt the spell catch, I made a running jump for a rock that stood in solitary splendor overlooking our battlefield. Soaring through the air, I landed atop the pinnacle and turned to face the enraged Orc. Clutching my injured arm tight against my body, I concentrated for a moment and then spoke the words I'd recently learned.

"Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata." I'd never attempted such a complex spell before, and I felt my magicka draining out of me. Stendarr, I hoped this worked - if it didn't, I'd have nothing left. There was a ponderous groaning noise as the rocks opposite me stretched and distorted unnaturally. Strange shapes played across the dark surface, shadows where there shouldn't be any. There was a peculiar twisting sensation behind my eyes: what had been ridges became fingers, what had been shadows became features. With a baleful glance in my direction, the newly-created Storm Atronach ground itself free of the bare rock it had formed from and slowly turned to face the Orc.

With an almighty crash, the ebon blade slammed into the rocky hide of my summoned creature. For all the effect it had, the Orc might as well have been hitting it with a broom. Craggy fists bunched, swept upwards... and hurled themselves down on the hapless warrior. The swift-moving blade deflected the worst of the blow but, even so, the sheer force made the heavily muscled Orc stagger. Again and again they struck, two titans locked in combat. Mist swirled up every time the blade struck the Atronach, and that mist was laced through time and time again with the electric energy the demonic creature controlled. Before too long, I lost sight of the combatants.

Suddenly, the sounds of fighting stopped and a dreadful silence descended. With great care I clambered down from my precarious perch - drawing my axe as soon as my feet touched solid ground. It was a needless precaution. Of the Atronach, there was no sign and the mighty warrior lay, broken and bleeding, on the ground. With a grunt, 'Umbra' raised himself to an elbow and peered at me, grinning with bloodstained teeth. With a painful movement of the head, he summoned me towards him.

"Don't mourn for me wizard," he gasped. "'Tis what I've sought these many years. The blade is yours, use it well." He managed a burbling laugh, bloody froth appearing at his mouth. "Funny, really. Gods knows how long fighting strapping great hulks of warriors and a little woman like you... manages where they... all failed. Should have Remembered my father's... advice: Never fight a wizard, they're" His eyes glazed and his head slumped. For a long while, I just knelt there - honoring the memory of this fallen hero.

Rising to my feet, I carefully arrayed his braided hair and cleaned his face before laying my shattered sword at his feet. His battered armor I left in place, mute testament to his valor. Raising a cairn of rocks around him, I paid my final respects and turned to the sword Umbra. Reaching out, I wrapped my hand around the hilt and grasped it firmly.

How shall I describe it? An unearthly voice sang discordant notes in my mind as visions of death, destruction, bloodshed, and glory filled my head. "Here, at last," it whispered, "is a hand worthy of carrying me. What glory we shall bring, we'll sweep a bloody swath across the continent, bring terror and ruin..." With a grunt of effort, I forced the visions out and mastered my rising bloodlust, stilling that cold, heartless voice. The future it had promised was so beguiling, the promises soft and seductive - but I would remain Sudhendra Vahl, mistress of my own destiny and not become some appendage to an ancient sword.

What I needed now was healing, and a few minutes rest. A potion took care of the former - the latter would have to await my return to Balmora. The translocation spell dropped me in the main square of the town, and I staggered back to the home I'd appropriated from Dura gra-Bol. dropping my pack just inside the door, I threw myself onto the bed and moaned in sheer delight.

When I woke, an hour or so later, I felt oddly refreshed, more than could be accounted for by such a brief nap. The sword had been massively heavy when I first picked it up - now it seemed substantially lighter. To this strange feeling of strength was added a lightness of step and a feeling of being, in some indefinable way, smarter than I had been. It was a most peculiar sensation. Almost whistling, I set of into town and purchased a couple of additional restore magicka potions from Nelcarya. This done, I returned to the house and bolted the door.

Hefting the sword, I spoke the cantrip again - gasping as the walls themselves deformed to spew forth a Storm Atronach. Strange to relate, summoning this one seemed less... draining than the one I'd summoned to fight 'Umbra'. Nor was the creature as tough as the one the Orc had battled, it's rocky exterior crumbling to nothingness as the sword hammered into it repeatedly. There was a brief sensation of heat from within the pouch at my waist, and I examined its contents carefully. One off the dull golden colored gems was unchanged. Ah, but the other most definitely was: it glowed with a muted light and, deep in the depths of the stone, strange lights flickered and danced.

The second Atronach fell as quickly and as easily as the first had, and I took a little while to ponder on this. I theorized thus: the Atronach summoned to fight 'Umbra' had been wrought from the hard, volcanic rock in the valley. These were formed of the much lighter material of the building I stood in. So, they were not as strong on the material plane as the very first one had been, although the essence of them that was trapped in the stone was - or so I sincerely hoped. Feeling remarkably pleased with myself, I locked both Umbra and the two soul-stones in the wooden chest and headed out towards the silt-strider port.

I sat back and relaxed as I travelled south, thinking about my novel solution to the problem that 'Umbra' had set me. I had, in the last month or so, improved enormously from the pale and weakened figure that had stepped onto land in Seyda Neen. While I was still not up to my old standard - even at the peak of my skills, I'd have stood no chance against 'Umbra' - I was slowly returning to where I'd been. The thing was, I was learning entirely different skills: in my old life (as I already thought of it) I'd relied on my skills with an axe and short-bladed sword, quick thinking and quicker feet, and the occasional touch of magic. Now, magic played a much more important part in my skill-set and my weaponry skills weren't as honed as they had been. As the drover yelled "Vivec City, end of the line", I resolved that I would remedy that as soon as I could.

The walk through the Ascadian Isles was pleasant, low rolling hills and shaded groves of trees. Before too long, I caught sight of the austere towers of the Imperial Fortress at Ebonheart. I'd spent much of my life in walled towns that looked and felt the same as this, I reflected as I walked across the bridge leading into the town. So it was surprising the depth of dislike I suddenly felt for these bland stonewalls. Pulling my collar up around my neck, I walked through the crowded streets of the town towards the massive Imperial structure looming up ahead.

"Name and business?" a guard said, stepping in front of me as I reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the long causeway that joined the Duke's castle to the rest of the town. I fixed the guard, who was clad in a silver breastplate and a long, flowing purple cape, in addition to more traditional armor, with a haughty glare.

"Muthsera Sudhendra Vahl," I snapped. "Mouth of Great House Telvanni and here on official House business that need not concern you." He gave me an insolent grin and moved aside - barely - to let me past. Fuming, I stomped across the bridge and threw open the massive wooden doors. My barely civil questions as to the Duke's whereabouts led me into a circular stairwell, at the top of which the Duke stood in a large chamber. Next to him stood a sour-faced Imperial clad in very ornate armor, and two well-dressed individuals. The Duke himself was instantly apparent.

Despite his small stature and narrow features, Duke Vedam Dren cut an imposing figure. Part of it might have been his clothing - made of opalescent material that shimmered in the lantern light - and part of it might have been the ornate black cuirass he wore. Mostly thought it was the air of authority he wore - authority bred in the bone. "Yes, may we help you?" he said in a languid, bored tone.

"I have come to ask you for a construction contract on behalf of Great House Telvanni," I replied, deliberately leaving out his title and any form of honorific after glancing at the three Cyrodiils surrounding him.

"Yes, we were informed that you were on your way," he said in the same bored tone. "We have it right here. But first, you must make us a promise.

"You must protect the people who settle around your stronghold for us," he continued, a slight hint of anger in his voice when I made no reply. "They will be vassals of your estate, under your personal protection at all times. Do we have such a promise from you?"

"You have my word of honor that I shall protect my people at all costs," I said, emphasizing the word 'my' and ignoring the snicker from one of the Imperials when I said 'honor'. He nodded, apparently that was good enough for him, and handed over a sheet of thick vellum. In amongst all the "whys" and "wherefores", stood my name and the words 'Uvirith's Grave'. Odd, I'd never seen my name on an official document that wasn't an arrest warrant before. With a barely polite bow, I stepped out of the chamber and returned to Balmora. Once I'd collected the soul-stones, I translocated myself to Sadrith Mora and made my way down to the Hermitage.

"These are excellent," Llunela Hleran said, examining the stones carefully, "and the paperwork is all in order. I shall issue instructions immediately to start construction." Thanking her, I returned to the house in Balmora for the night.

The morning was bright and beautiful, and I regretted that I had to leave the stark beauty of West Gash for the dusty streets of Ald'ruhn. Still, I had a task to undertake and sooner started, sooner finished as they say. The manor houses of the authorities were built "Under Skar", so that is where I headed. Under Skar is an amazing structure - as unique in its way as any Tel of the Telvanni Mage-Lords. At some point, vast oceans must have covered Vvardenfell for here, atop the stairs that led to the plaza, stood the fossilized shell of a crab. And not just any crab, for this one was hundreds of paces in circumference and towered high above as you approached. Part of the shell was buried under the weight of solidified lava; yet bore the weight with ease.

Inside, just enough light filtered through the shell to give the interior a pleasant glow. Huge suspended walkways arched across the vast openness of the carapace's interior vault and, set into the walls of the shell at various points were beautifully crafted wooden doors. The manors were all arrayed around the upper part of the shell while, down below, several banners hung limply to indicate the various tradesmen that had established themselves here. A guard impatiently directed me to the abode of Athyn Sarethi.

I wandered through opulent hallways and large rooms crammed with exquisitely carved furniture until I arrived at the private quarters of the Mer I sought. For a warrior clan, they certainly did like their creature comforts - no noble's house I'd seen had ever been this well appointed. I introduced myself to Athyn Sarethi and spoke of my reasons for being there - the interview did not go well.

"An interesting point Telvanni," he commented when I'd finished. "But I fail to see why you have come to me, thinking I would be of assistance."

"Master Aryon said that you and he have had dealings in the past," I said quickly as he started to turn dismissively. "He said you were an honest and fair-minded Mer."

"Aryon?" There was a moment when I thought he was going to say more, and then he turned and addressed me directly. "So you're Aryon's latest protégé are you? Hmm, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to help in this matter.

"My advice to you is twofold. You are more likely to win agreement from the councilors if you make an appeal to their sense of fairness than by any other method. That's my first piece of advice. The second is, do not try to enlist Bolvyn Venim: he is a gifted leader but not one known for his sense of fair-play or cooperation with the other Great Houses."

"And your support for this proposal?" I asked.

He glared at me, speaking with an icy calmness, "My support for the proposal is a given young lady. Where it otherwise, I would not have given you any assistance in this matter."

As I walked away, I distinctly heard him mutter "Telvanni impudence, it'll be the ruination of them all". I suspect that I was intended to overhear the comment but, other than straightening my back, I gave no sign that I'd heard anything.

For the next few hours, I wandered through the halls and chambers of Redoran territory, each door or turn of the corridor opening up onto new vistas of opulence. Often I got lost in the labyrinthine tunnels that extended behind the simple doors that led into the luxurious residences of these Warrior-Councilors but, by dint of accosting people in the corridor and asking for directions, I soon reached my targets. Sarethi's advice proved to be extremely useful and not one of the councilors I approached failed to agree to our proposal. Although I was required to only get three statements of approval, I visited all of the Redoran councilors in turn - just in case one should change his or her mind at a later date.

With five potential consenting votes, I stepped out of the shell and spoke the words that would recall me to Master Aryon's chambers. He was delighted at my success, rewarding me with an embroidered glove. This may seem somewhat of a poor offering for my work but rest assured, it was not. For, woven into the fabric of the glove was a powerful enchantment that could control the minds of Men and Mer.

"While you were gone," Master Aryon said, "I received a message from Shishi. Ironically, given your last assignment, it seems that Great House Redoran has taken a dislike to Faves Andas' close proximity to what they consider their territory. I need you to go to Shishi and sort out the problem." He showed me the location of the Velothi tower on my map. "North of Ald'ruhn is the Redoran town of Maar Gan, nearby runs the Foyada Bani-Dad. Shishi is about halfway along the Foyada."

As I rode the silt-strider from Ald'ruhn to Maar Gan, I smiled to myself. Given that Shishi would be, at most, an hour's walk from the small religious site, it was no wonder that Great House Redoran was disturbed that it was Telvanni property. Careful study of my map showed me what Master Aryon had neglected to mention - Odirniran, with it's control of the ocean approaches to the south and Shishi, which dominated the only easy route north from more Imperial controlled territory. And Tel Vos itself, with its commanding views of the northern ocean approaches to Telvanni territory. Each of the sites of the strongholds had been carefully chosen for their strategic advantage - one of the advantages when you have several lifetimes to consider how to deploy your forces is that your forces are deployed to your benefit.

Maar Gan was small, squalid, and dusty. Like some timid creature in its hole, it nestled between massive rocky crags - baking slowly in the heat of the midday sun. The one Tradehouse was as slow and sleepy as the rest of the village but it did afford me the opportunity to purchase a bandana to go across my mouth and several skins of water. The water I'd probably not need but I'd seen several people in Ald'ruhn with cloth across their mouth - walking through the dusty streets of Maar Gan made me appreciate what a fine idea the style was. It might not look too stylish, but at least I wouldn't be spitting out dust for a week. I also purchased a well-polished silver dagger.

My journey along the Foyada Bani-Dad wasn't particularly onerous, apart from the persistent attentions of a number of Cliff-Racers. I did have one moment where I had some fun. A pair of Dunmer, probably bandits or Ashlanders, took exception to me walking through their camp and chased me for a mile or so before loosing interest. Of course, my idea of fun isn't to be perused by a pair of cursing bandits but, in this desolate wilderness, you take what you can find. All of the running did have its advantages; it left the pair floundering at the attentions of those bedamned Cliff-Racers that had, up until then, been chasing me. It also had the advantage of bringing me to Shishi that much sooner.

Mindful of my last exercise in infiltration, I approached Shishi with a great deal more caution than I'd shown at Odirniran. I had with me some of the grease I'd gathered in Nchuleft, and I used this to lubricate the door to the tower before opening it just wide enough for me to slide inside. The foyer was similar to the one in Odirniran, a large empty space with a single door leading deeper into the stronghold. Once more I greased the hinges and opened the door carefully. Squatting down, I drew the dagger I'd purchased in Maar Gan and held it out through the gap. By angling the blade, I was able to gain a relatively clear view of the corridor - clear enough to see a pair of feet sticking around the corner.

The owner of those feet wasn't about to come walking around the corner any time soon though, nor walk anywhere again for that matter. They belonged to a young and very dead Dunmeri woman. The deep cuts and congealed blood around her told their own story. Nor was she the last servant I found in such a state.

It was with steadily mounting fury that I stalked the corridors of Shishi. Gore splattered beds in one chamber bore witness to the massacre there, a trail of blood told its own sorry tale elsewhere. Death: the wanton and mindless killing of innocent and defenseless servants greeted me at every turn. As I surveyed one particularly bloody scene, I smiled. I very much wanted to meet those responsible for this, and I wanted to look them in the eye as their souls went screaming into the void.

The woman, clad in steel armor barely knew what hit her. The Atronach, formed from the very stones of the building, tore into her - driven by the incandescent rage I felt. Huge fists crumpled steel like parchment as wreaths of lightning danced around the bloodied figure. Leaving her to whatever tender mercies an Atronach might show, I pressed deeper into the building.

"We've searched every inch of the building," I heard a voice complain from the upper area of the dome. "Every room, every corridor. I tell you, he isn't here."

"He must be," a second voice commented. "A Telvanni necromancer would never leave his tower."

"And where's Anise?" the first voice said. "She needs to get this report over to Venim so he can send reinforcements. There's no way the three of us can hold this place if that necromancer's still here."

During this exchange, I'd been moving as stealthily as I could up the stairs. I knew that the stairwell would be visible to anyone who chanced to look over the low railing, but I was counting on that. There was a sudden stillness at the top of the stairs and the faintest hint of an indrawn breath. Then the second voice said, "If I were you, I'd ransack those shelves over there, see if you can find any clues as to where that Telvanni might be hiding."

"Right-ho," said the first voice with an inane cheerfulness. There followed the most blatantly false attempt to make the sound of footsteps heading away I've ever heard. With a clatter and a clash, two heavily armed warriors darted into view at the top of the stairs. "HA! We have you now... wait, you're not Faves Andas!"

"Lawks, mercy me," I said in a quavering voice. "I was looking for the master and thought he had guests."

"Where is he?" demanded the shorter of the two soldiers.

"Why, right next to you," I said, pointing at him with a gloved hand.

The taller Redoran sounded puzzled. "What are you talking about you...? Arggggh!"

The scream was probably because his compatriot was making a serious attempt to winkle him out of his armor with the point of his sword. "Bloody Telvanni, I'll kill you," he repeated over and over again as the sword in his hand hammered against the Bonemold armor. Bewildered by this turn of events, the Redoran soldier fumbled with his sword and took time in coming to grips with the fact his friend was making a serious attempt to kill him.

By the time he'd accepted the fact that short 'n' stupid wasn't going to stop and he started to defend himself, it was already too late. The Bonemold had split in several places and freshets of blood trickled from many of the rents and gashes. An especially splendid backhand slash tore the pauldron from his shoulder and opened a short wound there. As he brought up his arm, the return blow sheered it off neatly just above the elbow. Blood gushed in a crimson tide as the sword clattered to the floor. "Bloody Hells..." the soldier moaned before pitching face down on the floor.

The taller soldier continued to hack and slash at the fallen body of his comrade, repeating his endless litany of imprecations. Suddenly he stopped, the sword falling from his hand. He tore off his helm and looked down at the wreck in front of him. "What have I done?" he quavered.

"Hey, soldier boy?" I said, stepping behind him. He spun around as best he could on his knees, looking up at me with a tear-stained face. "Vomica cruor" I added, slapping him across the cheek. He screamed as the fire took hold, threshing as the fluids in his body escalated towards boiling point. True to my promise to the shades of the murdered servants, I looked him directly in the eyes as he burned.

Which left me with the same problem they had faced: namely that I'd been through every chamber and corridor of the building and hadn't found a hide nor hair of Faves Andas. Their idea had been a good one, perhaps searching this chamber would turn up some clue. All I found were some books on alchemy, some papers concerning the Empire and a few alchemical ingredients - which I'm sure Faves Andas would never miss. If I could find him, that is.

Why had the Redoran soldiers called him a necromancer?

That thought occurred to me as I sat on the bed and surveyed the room. I'd met necromancers - well, I'd met one necromancer and been in the hut of another. If Faves Andas dabbled in the Blackest Art, where were the soul-stones? Come to that, where were the books no necromancer would be without, and the paraphernalia? The only evidence I could see to support the Redoran charge of necromancy was a skull on a table. And that in itself was odd.

There was this large, well-made table with empty drawers (as my earlier search had proven) and nothing on the top except a single, solitary skull. Now intrigued, I reached out to pick it up, only to find that it was stuck to the table somehow. I twisted it, trying to unscrew it and was rewarded with the sound of stone scraping on stone from downstairs. When I cleared the last step, I saw that the raised platform that had extended from the wall had moved, revealing a small trapdoor set into the floor.

Laughing, I raised it up and yelled down into the darkness, "Faves Andas? I'm Sudhendra Vahl, Master Aryon sent me."

"Well thank all the powers," a voice said. There was a soft scraping sound and a light flared to reveal a lined and worried face. Applying the taper to the wick of a lantern, Faves Andas motioned for me to join him down in his panic-room. He babbled his thanks, pressing a couple of books into my hands and saying that he wished he had more to give me. Suddenly a look of horror crossed his face.

"My servants?" he gasped. "Did any of them survive?" He seemed genuinely heart-broken when I said that they had not. Leaving him to his grief, I returned to Balmora. Someday, I would exact revenge on House Redoran for their deeds at Shishi.

Feeling somewhat less morose than I had yester, I cast a Recall spell to Master Aryon's chambers, where I found him in an expansive mood.

"You've done exceedingly well Muthsera Vahl," he said. "Faves Andas was most pleased most pleased indeed. Although you've only been my Mouth a short while, I'm afraid I'm going to have to find someone to replace you."

He realized what I thought he meant as I stood there spluttering, trying to form a coherent response. "No, no. You misunderstand. I need to find a new Mouth because I am promoting you. Henceforth, you are Spellwright of Great House Telvanni, with all the responsibilities and duties thereof. In addition, Faves Andas has sent this rather fine Staff of War to mark his appreciation for your sterling efforts in rescuing him.

"As a Master, and your patron, I can still give you some orders - you, of course, are free to disregard them and follow your own path. I can also give you advice and suggestions on how to proceed. This is important since, as you are now of quite high rank, some of those beneath you will consider you... fair game. If you understand what I mean?"

Oh, I understood all right. It's a fact that's known by inference, rather than direct discussion, that lower-ranking Telvanni can move up the promotion ladder by arranging a suitable 'accident' for those of middle-rank. And the definition of 'accident' is fairly lax - failing to wake up one morning because there's a dagger sticking out of your back was, by Telvanni code, an 'unfortunate accident'.

"There is also a matter we must discuss," he added. "It needs saying, although it shouldn't, that what we're about to discuss is not to be discussed with those of lesser rank than Spellwright and must not be discussed with anyone outside the House. Ever."

For the next hour, Master Aryon led me through the complex procedures that ensure continued life for Telvanni, explaining how he had lived for seven hundred years beyond the normal span of a Dunmeri lifetime. All I will say on the matter is that, despite my fears, the process did not involve that Blackest Art. No, I'm sorry, that's all I will say on the matter, other than to say that the Imperial claims that we use necromancy to prolong our life are calumny of the first order.

When we'd finished, he gave me the bad news. "I have no further tasks for you at the moment Muthsera Vahl. My recommendation is that you train those skills you have and make yourself less of a target. If, when you've got bored with that, I still have no tasks for you, I will give some thought to how you might improve your standing within the House."

I was at something of a loss as I walked out of Master Aryon's chambers. Despite my continued assertions that 'I was the captain of my own destiny', this was the first time since I'd landed on this island that I really had nothing to do. 'Take this there', 'Get me this', and "I have a little job for you' had become such a part of my life in the last month that I hadn't noticed how reliant on others for direction I'd become. Until now, that is.

So, it was with a sense of relief that, upon seeing Turedus Talanian, I remembered his little fact-finding mission to the Zainab. It was early enough in the day that the relatively short journey wouldn't be too onerous and I'd relish the chance to meet more of these Ashlanders. The fact that it would be a pleasant walk through the Grazelands didn't hurt either.

As it turned out, I didn't get very far along the road south before whatever twisted power that plays dice with my fate intervened yet again. I was walking along between two high grassy banks in a vaguely southerly direction when I saw the words "HELP ME" chalked onto a rock. Next to them was an arrow, pointing towards a faint plume of smoke. As I got nearer, I could see a robed Man kneeling beside some sort of pack animal.

"Isin yabancis," the Redguard said, straightening up and turning as I approached, "may I prevail upon you for some assistance? My pack-Guar has some disease and I am without a cure. A thousand pardons for thus intruding Muthsera, but any assistance would be greatly appreciated."

I crouched beside the Guar and looked at it. I'd seen wild ones before, at a distance, but I hadn't been aware that they could be domesticated in this manner. What a wonderful idea on an island where horses were more a delicacy than a mode of transport. The creature was an odd color, a sort of grayish tinge to the normally pink scales and its breathing sounded terribly labored.

"I don't think I can help," I said as I stood. "I'm not sure what's wrong with it. I have a spell, and some potions to cure Blight but I'd hate to give your Guar the wrong thing." He looked crestfallen, and that's when I had an idea. "But, I'll tell you what. I can get to Tel Vos and back here very, very quickly. I'll go and speak with Andil, the Apothecary. If I describe the symptoms, he might be able to sell me a cure."

"Teneo is locus" I said, placing a Mark where I stood. Having done that, I translocated back to Tel Vos and went into the Service tower to speak to the apothecary.

"Droops," Andil said authoritatively when I'd finished describing the symptoms. "A standard cure disease potion will fix Hodrim's Guar. Do you need a potion, or do you have enough to spare one?" Assuring the merchant that I had enough potions, I cast Recall and returned to the Redguard's camp.

"Thank you, thank you," Hodrim said, clasping my hand and bowing over it when I'd cured his beast. "I am but a poor trader, and have no suitable reward for you. However, I am going to meet the Zainab and, when I return to Tel Vos, I will have many items. Of these, you may take whatever you fancy."

We walked a little way together, speaking of nothing in particular. Hodrim, it turned out, does a brisk trade between the Ahemmusa camp in the north, Tel Vos, and the Zainab camp in the south and is, quite possibly, the only merchant trading in Ashlander goods on the whole island. We'd not gone far, however, when the slow pace - enforced by his slowly recovering beast of burden - began to chaff. Bidding him farewell, I set off at a much brisker pace, soon leaving the trader behind. And so it was that I crested the hills and saw below me the Zainab camp.

Like the Ahemmusa camp, it was a rough circle of yurts around a large central fire pit. However, it had more of an air of permanence about it than the more northerly camp. One thing didn't change though: the icy distain that Ashlanders show for outsiders. I was as polite and careful as I could be, greeting each of the nomadic warriors that had gathered around me politely. Pretty soon, however, they lost interest and started to drift away.

"Excuse my impertinence at asking you a question Muthsera," I said to one burly Ashlander. "I'm here on behalf of the Mage-Lord in Vos." The Ashlander stopped and turned to face me. A slight inclination of the head seemed to be the entire signal I was going to get, so I carried on. "He wishes to know what goods might be acceptable in trade."

"Hmpf," the Ashlander said coldly. "Look about you Outlander. What need have we of the great buildings or soft furnishings of the settled people? Such foods as the Tribe needs can be gathered from nearby by the most inexperienced warrior, and we have no interest in the bangles, beads and baubles most attempt to trade with us."

With that, he turned and strode away. Because I was still wary of these proud people, I'd been paying attention to the goings on around me and had spotted a gorgeously dressed young woman shaking her head as the warrior spoke. "Excuse me," I said softly as I gingerly approached her, "but is there something that we could trade with you?"

She thought for a moment, and then said, "The settled peoples have a way of bottling magic - this I have seen. Often, when our husb... warriors are out gathering food they become diseased. Sometimes they are too far away to get back and seek healing from the Wise Woman in time. We have little to trade Outlander but, if trade you would, those bottled magics would be most welcome."

I felt a wave of sympathy for the woman as she walked away; obviously it had been her husband that had died because of some disease that a potion could have cured. Simultaneously I felt a sense of elation: simple cure disease and even cure Blight potions could be produced with ease - although, looking around the camp, I could see little that would be worth trading for. I resolved to ask Turedus what the Ashlanders could possibly have that Master Aryon wanted to trade for.

My second meeting with Ashlanders had gone well and the day was still quite young, although I felt a pressing need for the midday meal. Guessing that giving food, or trading food, to strangers was a distinct improbability, and that sitting down to eat in the middle of the camp would be somewhat rude (and probably invite some fairly unpleasant reminder of that), I moved away from the camp to a small hill to the east. There, under the shade of a broad tree, I ate a simple meal and savored the fresh breeze coming across the gently rippling grass.

I made certain to keep my eyes east or north as I ate, the marked contrast to the west would have spoiled my appetite somewhat. Not far west from where I sat, the grass started to grow in clumps and the trees looked unhealthy. There was a sharp dip just beyond this barren patch - presumably down to one of the many paths that criss-cross the Grazelands. When the ground rose again, it was devoid of grass or plant life, bare and sere as it covered the short distance to where the mountains rose from the plains.

I have no idea, even to this day, what prompted me to head west towards the mountains instead of north towards Tel Vos. As I approached a gully that led into the highlands, I saw another of those mining claims - this one being worked by an Argonian. Since I had no idea (at the time) that such places were freely available for anyone to mine ore, I gave the industrious lizard a wide berth. I hadn't gone too much further when I came to someplace called 'The Ridak Mine'.

On a whim, I stepped inside and started to explore.

"Master," a soft voice called. "Master, why do you continue to torment me? Wasn't killing you once enough?" An oddly garbed figure dropped from a ledge in the cavern. He seemed to be wearing some sort of shell on his torso - not that I was paying too much attention right then since I was desperately trying to avoid being hit by the big hammer he was wielding.

"Wait!" I said, back-pedaling frantically. "I'm not your master..."

You know that there are those moments when you just instinctively say exactly the wrong thing? This, it seemed, was one of them. The veins stood out on his neck as he roared, "**YOU WERE NEVER MY MASTER. I WAS ALWAYS BETTER THAN YOU LHEROS!**"

My desperate attempt to soft-talk my way out of the problem had backfired badly and the already demented individual in front of me had now worked himself up into a killing frenzy. Fortunately, a massive hammer isn't a subtle weapon and, as hammers went, this was humongous. As it crashed into the floor with a resounding thud, I was already two paces away and raising my hands. Little did I know that my day was about to get even worse.

"Exuro meus Hostilis" I said, finalizing the structure of the spell in my mind. From my cupped hands a swirling sphere of fire hurled itself towards the Man. As the fire wrapped itself around him, I felt sudden and unpleasant warmth. I screamed and threw myself on the floor - miraculously avoiding a swing that would have pulped my head had it connected - and rolled frantically to extinguish the flames that burned on my robe. "Son of a Guar," I thought, scrabbling to avoid another killing blow and drag out my sword at the same time, "reflection!"

For any magic-user there are two great banes in this world: one being the spell 'Silence' and the other being the ability, either innate or induced via magical means, to reflect magic back at the caster. It was just my luck that this raving and homicidal maniac had access to that ability. Since any form of offensive magic was now out of the question, I'd have to rely on fleetness of foot and my skill with a blade. Stendarr protect me, I was in real trouble here.

I scooted under another wild swing, slashing out with my blade as I did so. The lunatic roared again, partially in anger and partially in pain. To my delight, I saw a deep groove had been scored in the pale pink cuirass he wore. Then I yelped in pain - my fleetness of foot was going to be hampered by the surely broken toes I'd just received. Hobbling slightly, I avoided another wild blow, stabbing the blade inward and twisting it viciously as it penetrated the armor. He moaned in pain as the blood began to trickle from the wound I'd given him.

There is little to tell of the rest of the fight: it mostly consisted of me keeping the Oblivion out of his way while he slowly bled to death. Of course, I wasn't averse to adding a few other wounds to the one he already had whenever I got an opening. I couldn't say how long it was since we'd started to dance, but he suddenly went pale (okay, he was a Man so he went paler) and dropped the hammer. He stood there swaying and swearing softly before collapsing in a heap on the floor. I had two orders of priority. The first was to ensure that this maniac was dead. And the second? To do something about the pain in my foot.

For the first time since entering this cave, I got a chance to look around. There were several dark boulders sticking out of the lighter stone of the cave wall - they looked grooved and chipped, as though someone had worked on them with a tool. Up on the ledge was a crude camp, little more than a bedroll and a cooking fire. There was a pot bubbling on the fire and a truly offensive stench was coming from it. Tucked under the pillow of the bedroll was a journal.

The journal of Darinis Parr made for very depressing reading. Early entries spoke of his work with a smith named Lheros and spoke in glowing terms of his (Parr's) master. However, as the entries continued, there was a deep under-current of malice and jealousy revealed by Parr's notes. Although he didn't write it plainly, the last few of the saner entries intimated that he'd killed this Lheros in a fit of jealous rage. I say 'saner' because there was no reason at all behind the later entries - long rambling discourses on how Parr was the better smith. The last couple of entries were deeply disturbing - let's just say that I wasn't too surprised at the contents of his cooking pot. Sickened certainly, but not surprised.

The strange shell-like armor Parr wore was wrecked beyond any skill of mine to repair and, I suspected that having it repaired would cost more than it was worth. Around the Man's neck were hung two rings of exquisite manufacture. And they were deeply magical; although they sang with a note and tone that I've never heard before. Being the inquisitive sort, I couldn't resist trying them on. The smaller and less ornate ring produced a strange tingling sensation in my hands and an odd urge to hold a hammer - other than that, it seemed to have no effect on me. Not so the larger ring with the jet-black stone set in it.

My vision blurred alarmingly as I set the ring upon my finger. I was about to tear it off when my gaze happened upon one of those boulders. Instantly I was aware of the rich vein of iron ore running through the rock. Moreover, I could see faint stress-lines in the rock and knew, somehow, that striking the rock there would be the best way to get at the metal within. The other boulders revealed similar faults and valuable ore - and one of them had strange crystalline structures in it. It took me a while to realize that I was seeing raw and uncut diamonds.

Lheros? Weren't the people who ran the public forges known as 'The Pupils of Lheros'? It was too much to expect this to be a coincidence. Since the only forge with a vendor that I knew of existed in Balmora, I stepped out of the mine and, after placing a Mark at the entrance, I mentally constructed the shape of the translocation spell for the town.

"You?" Daniela Styles said incredulously. "You found Darinis Parr's hideout and have killed him? Do you have any idea how long we've been searching for the wretch?"

Her reluctance to believe me was quickly washed away when I showed her the two rings I'd taken. Visibly shaken, she said, "I'm impressed stranger, Darinis Parr is... was a very dangerous man. You've performed a great service for us. Please, accept this gift of two and a half thousand Drakes as a reward. And, if there's any information you require, please don't hesitate to ask."

There was a great deal of information I required, and we spent a while in discourse. I walked away from the encounter knowing that the mining claims can be mined by anyone; that Lheros had written a number of books on the manufacture of armor; and that Lheros' tomb was near Ald'ruhn and that nobody who went there had ever returned. I also took away a mining axe.

Which is why, a short time later, I was hammering the axe into the boulders inside the mine, giggling like a lunatic as I extracted large quantities of almost pure iron ore from them. When I'd gathered as much as I could carry, I returned to Balmora. There, under the careful tutelage of Daniela Styles, and aided enormously by the other ring, I melted and hammered the ore into several long ingots. Without the books, I had no means of producing anything else other than ingots - although Daniela did give me fifty Septims for them.

Well pleased with myself, I returned to Dura gra-Bol's house and rested up for the night.

Whatever training I'd been doing yester seemed to have paid dividends: when I awoke this morning, I felt fitter and stronger than I had. I'd experienced this odd sensation before, a feeling that there was suddenly more to you than there had been - almost as though you'd clambered to another level of skill. Previously I'd written it off to potions I'd taken, or things I'd been exposed to. However, yester I hadn't taken any potions and, unless the former home of Dura gra-Bol had some mystic property I was unaware of, I hadn't been exposed to anything unusual. Whatever the cause, I decided I rather liked the feeling. So it was with a smile on my face that I translocated to Tel Vos and made my way up to Master Aryon's chambers; where he soon managed to wipe it off.

"I have no tasks for you to undertake Muthsera Vahl," he said. "I can make a suggestion, however. It depends on how ambitious you are. You see if you wish to advance in the House, you need to make the other Councilors aware of you. Their favor can make or break you, as many an ambitious young Telvanni has discovered to their cost.

"I can't compel you, of course," he continued. "However, performing a few small tasks here and there for the other Councilors would stand you in good stead. The only other piece of advice I'd give you would be to avoid Arch-Magister Gothren."

"And why would that be, Serjo Aryon?" I quizzed.

"Let us just say that he tends to take a dim view of ambitious young Telvanni," Aryon said wryly. "The tasks he gives them tend to be a little fatal. Master Baladas you know, and should take as much advantage of any friendship that there is there. You should be safe enough with Mistress Dratha; be wary of old Neloth, he's a skinflint and deep in Gothren's pocket. Visiting Fyr would be pointless, as you know; he takes no interest in the workings of the House at all.

"Finally," he said, having marked the Tels of the councilors on my map, "we come to Mistress Therana. The years have not been kind to her, and it is feared that she may have fallen back on less savory methods of extending her life. Back to the very old ways, you might say."

"I have some... experience with Therana," I said carefully, aware of what he was hinting at.

He nodded, "Then you are aware that asking her for anything is fraught with danger. Still, she was always generous and enough of her mind may remain..."

I thanked Master Aryon for his advice and made my way out of his chambers. There was a tuneless humming coming from downstairs and I grinned as I went to meet Turedus.

"I've spoken to the Zainab," I said, by way of an introduction. "And I know what they'll accept in trade."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," the massive armored Man said.

"Potions," I revealed. "Their hunters are often too far from camp to make it back in time to be cured."

"Well I'll be a Khajiit's uncle," Turedus said with a wide grin. "I'd never have thought of that. His Nibs, erm, Master Aryon will be extremely pleased with that news. Here, have these small tokens of my gratitude." The 'small tokens' turned out to be a purse containing a hundred Septims and an amulet ensorcelled with a cantrip of levitation. While the former was welcome, the latter was of inestimable value to me - now I wouldn't have to keep buying those foul tasting potions or expending magicka to reach the top of Telvanni towers.

I should point out that, if you haven't already guessed, curiosity is a major failing of mine. It was curiosity that led me to Great House Telvanni in the first place, and it was that same curiosity that prompted me to explore Tel Vos. And what profitable exploration it was too.

Inside the well-guarded tower that seemed to serve as a jail, at least if the barred heavy doors were any indication, I found a hidden doorway. I was really just on my way down from the top of the tower to the level where a walkway led to another part of the fort. As I went around a corner, I felt a slight puff of wind on my face. I backtracked immediately and examined the wall carefully - by passing my hand back and forth across the stones I found that what appeared to be just another piece of wall was a hidden doorway. Making sure I was unobserved - I was a welcome guest at Tel Vos and I didn't wish to jeopardize that by being seen poking into places I shouldn't - I gently pushed the wall. I was surprised, to say the least when a section of the wall swung back soundlessly to reveal a hidden void.

Quickly, I batted aside the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling and examined the small space. It had obviously been here since the Empire had built the fort. The branch that had torn aside a chunk of masonry explained the breeze. Apart from a couple of quite high quality potions, there was nothing of interest, but it did get me thinking.

I don't know what Master Aryon's guards thought of my behavior over the next few hours. I poked my nose into every nook and cranny of the Tel in my search for any other hidden areas. Oft times I'd be discovered by a guard, tapping a blank section of wall. With a bright smile, I blandly assured them that Master Aryon had assigned me the task of checking for structural weaknesses. I assume that they accepted this explanation - either they didn't report my strange behavior to Master Aryon or, if they did, he never saw fit to mention it.

I picked up a well made but rusty bow and a couple of dozen steel arrows in one part of the stronghold, and a fortune in gemstones in another. I felt sure that Aryon wouldn't mind me taking the things I found. After all, if he was foolish enough to leave them unremarked and unguarded, I deserved them more than he did. My greatest find, however, came with the discovery of a second concealed portal in the north-eastern tower.

Inside the hidden chamber was a small trapdoor that led down to another, larger concealed chamber. Here prowled another of those oddly deformed creatures - one that I later discovered was called a Dremora Lord. The instant it spotted me it summoned its preferred weapon and had at me. I must admit that I nearly lost the fight since I was working very hard to stifle a bad attack of the giggles.

I see you smile, imagining the fell-handed Sudhendra Vahl giggling whilst in battle. Warriors are not born, but are tempered through experience - should they survive long enough. As to the reason for my inappropriate display of mirth, that's told simply enough. Imagine if you will a chamber barely wide enough for me to lie down in. Now imagine a Dremora Lord wielding a staff taller than either of us.

When the essence of my foe had been sent wailing back to whichever corner of Oblivion he'd come from, I examined the remainder of the room. The first item I discovered was a shield, heavy as sin and made from the same dark material as my erstwhile foe's armor. It was made to resemble a leering face and, despite the great bulk of it, I claimed it as my own. The other item I found was a crescent-shaped axe of Dwemeri design. I held the grip and listened to its song as I slashed it experimentally through the air. Despite the antiquity of the weapon, it still held a wickedly sharp edge. Smaller, but heavier, than the axe I habitually carried, it would make a fair replacement as it could be wielded in tighter confines.

I was surprised at how much time had passed when I stepped from the tower. Night's purple shadows were already gathering in the corners as the sun sank low in the west. With a shrug, I translocated to Balmora for some, in my opinion, well-deserved rest.

The insistent hammering on my door woke me from a dream. Heavy-lidded, I threw on a robe and went to answer. To my surprise, a youth stood there, proffering a sheet of velum. When I'd rewarded him with a golden coin, I shut the door and looked at the parchment uneasily. I had fancied that my little hidey-hole in Balmora was unknown to most people - excepting, of course, the Fighters Guild and Caius Cosades. So, to receive this missive was unsettling.

Any trace of sleepiness fell from my eyes as I examined the note. From Llunela Hleran, it urged me to visit her to discuss my stronghold. I believe the phrase 'at your convenience' was used. Throwing on more suitable attire, I forewent breakfast and travelled to Sadrith Mora with as much haste as I could muster.

"Muthsera Vahl," Llunela said happily as I stepped into the circle of light around her fire. "I trust the day finds you well?" I nodded, wondering how to prompt her to hurry up. I needn't have bothered. "Your stronghold is begun," she said, "but I need you to travel to Uvirith's Grave and speak to the construction boss, an Orc by the name of Gashnak gra-Mughol. She is overseeing the early stages of growth, but I need a progress report.

"Uvirith's Grave is here," she said, showing me a large map, "roughly west of Tel Fyr."

Assuring her that I'd report back as quickly as possible, I made my way up to the docks and spoke the spell that would allow me to walk on water. I made good time, crossing Zafirbel Bay and came, in due course, to the shore of the main island. Large mountains blocked my direct route: as I didn't wish to run the risk of getting lost, I used the levitation amulet to rise up and over them. Before too long, I found myself flying over a depressing landscape.

Hummocks of ashy-black rock rose up from the sere and lifeless plain below me. A few half-dead trees dotted the landscape while, from several hollows I crossed, steam rose from strangely shaped vents. As I travelled further inland the ground below me grew less hospitable and even more desolate - if such a thing was possible. My heart was down in my boots; surely my stronghold wasn't being built in the trackless wasteland?

My fears were justified for I soon spotted an Orcish female standing atop a hill in the middle of this barrenness. Allowing the spell to fade (just as well, since the amulet was almost out of charge), I drifted towards the ground. Where, I wondered, was my tower? As I tramped up that hill, small puffs of gritty dust rising up with every footfall, I saw a small mass of tangled roots growing around a pair of matched crystals.

"Tower growing well," the Orcish female said. "Week, perhaps a ten day, soon it be ready for second-stage growth. You tell Hleran I, construction boss, see no problems here."

I wish I didn't, I reflected as I constructed the shape of the translocation spell in my mind and stepped through it to Sadrith Mora. Llunela must have sensed my mood when I reported gra-Mughol's words. She grinned when I explained the reason for my depression.

"See here Muthsera Vahl," she said, placing her map where I could see it. Pointing to Uvirith's Grave, she explained it to me. "Any traveler from Suran, Pelagiad, or Molag Mar will have to pass along one of these two routes..." Here she indicated two deep canyons leading north and east. "...And each of them leaves the traveler in this area around Uvirith's Grave. They will have to pass by your stronghold to travel to the Grazelands or over to territory controlled by us. In other words, you will be controlling this whole area..." She made a sweep around Uvirith's Grave with her finger, giving me some idea of the area of influence my tower would command. I felt a little better after that, but I was still unhappy at the severity of the location - just about everything I needed would have to be brought in.

Llunela just laughed when I mentioned that little fact, saying that I had much to learn about how Great House Telvanni organized things. I took heart from that, although I was a little surprised - after all, my fellow Telvanni make a virtue of their isolation and independence. Llunela wouldn't be drawn on the subject preferring to 'let it all come as a surprise' as she put it. Instead, she told me the cautionary tale of Jaron Scorchblot, a very old and powerful Telvanni from the mainland. He had professed to need the isolation his remote stronghold gave him and had declined all contact. Within a year, his tower was so much mulch and he now spent his days wandering from place to place. "In fact," she finished, "I believe he is currently residing on a rock somewhere out in Zafirbel Bay."

The tale was, as I said, meant to be a cautionary one and I took careful note of that fact. So, there was some sort of support structure for the Telvanni Mage-Lords that was unknown to the outside world. Thinking back on the location of Shishi, it really shouldn't have come as any surprise. And no, I'll not be detailing the whys, how, and wherefores of that infrastructure. There are secrets we've kept for thousands of years; I see no reason to tell you everything.

I had seen Pelagiad when I'd first arrived on Vvardenfell and, for some reason, felt the need to see it again. Perhaps it was curiosity that drove me, or a vague sense of homesickness. So it was that I set off along the road towards the Imperial town. For a change, none of the local fauna seemed interested in making me their next meal, the sun was shining out of a cloudless sky, and there was the delicate scent of green and growing things on the breeze. Of all the things I've grown accustomed to during my long tenure on this island, the smell is the one thing that I still find the least pleasant. Oh, not that I mind the flinty, ash smell that permeates virtually everything here; no, it's the smell of growing things I miss.

Still, I digress. I think I probably heard the woman before I caught sight of her - her sobbing was audible before she came into sight. Tall, with red hair and exquisite clothing, she looked the very definition of distress as she stood at the side of the road.

"What ails you?" I asked the Bretonian.

"Have you seen a bandit on your travels?" she asked. I shook my head. "Ah, such a shame," she said, "For I have been robbed."

"Was much taken?" I asked, adding, "I might be able to recover your jewels and valuables if you can give me a description of the thief."

"Jewels and valuables?" she said haughtily. "Baubles I can afford to loose. No, what was stolen was much more valuable."

Thinking she had been robbed of valuable documents, I pressed her for a description. "A Dark Elf, like yourself," she said. "Tall, with brown hair and a twinkle in his eye. His face was ruggedly handsome and he was tall and proud." I listened with growing dismay as she spoke, a soft and dreamlike tone in her voice as she described her assailant. "He took a kiss and stole my heart," she concluded.

I raised an eyebrow at that. She begged me to seek out this bandit and give him a note and a token of her love, one of her exquisite gloves. While I could see no harm in what she asked, personally I thought her insane. To loose your heart to some bandit on the road seemed to me the very height of foolishness. Especially when you had no idea of where this bandit came from, or to whence he had gone, and only the name 'Nelos Onmar'.

Putting her note and token away, I continued on down the road - occasionally shaking my head at such an absurd idea. I was, I'll admit, tempted to throw note and glove away and forget this task. So engrossed was I with my internal debate that I almost stepped into the woman who stood blocking my way.

"Traveler," she said, "a boon if you will." I looked up to see a priestess of Kynareth, clad in the traditional blue robe of that order. "Please can you bring the Guard from Pelagiad? Some ruffians have taken over the shrine and I cannot deal with them. And I fear my sister's life - she is still inside."

"Why would anyone attack a shrine?" I asked.

"Two very important religious icons are on display," she explained. "If they are stolen, it will be a disaster."

"Perhaps I can help?" I said. "If I'm careful, I might be able to free your sister at the very least. It would be quicker than bringing the guards here."

"Why would you help Dark Elf?" she asked. "This is an Imperial matter."

Although it amused me that Ariene mistook me for a native, her words also stung. Rather brusquely I explained that I was an Imperial citizen, recently arrived from the mainland and that, while not a devotee of Kynareth, I worshipped at the shrine of Stendarr. I will admit, however, that I neglected to mention that it had been a good number of years since I'd last stood before the altar and made my devotions. She seemed to reach a decision and gave me the key to the shrine.

As I slipped the massive brass key into the equally massive lock, I wondered what madness had come over me. What had started as a simple walk in the countryside had become a matter of arranging a tryst between a love-struck Breton and a Dunmer bandit who probably didn't even remember her; and of recovering (or attempting to recover) two sacred artifacts from a besieged shrine. Once again I was prompted to wonder 'why me?'

The cool blues of the shrine reflected the light from a very ornately decorated panel that greeted the visitor on entering. Above me, a balcony jutted out from the wall, to my right a small set of stairs descended to a dark wooden door, directly in front of me was the sacristy - the place where the prayers were said. Although there was nobody about, I could hear the faint scrape of metal on stone.

The levitation amulet allowed me to reach the balcony, since there seemed to be no other method of getting there. The door, which was the only feature of the area, yielded easily to my touch and I stepped into a small chamber. Three things immediately struck my attention and made me draw my axe. The first was the ebony sphere that was displayed on a lavish golden stand. The glass cover that had protected it lay in shards on the top of the simple stone plinth. The second thing was the woman, clad in black armor, reaching for the sphere. The final thing was the look of pure venom she gave me when I entered. With no word or challenge, she drew a strangely wrought blade and advanced on me purposefully.

She was skilled, I'll give her that and, not so long ago she would have proved too formidable an opponent for me. However, I'd grown in stature and power since I'd arrived and the Dwemer axe - which I'd named 'Bara Ddeisyf', or 'The Last Wish' - was a far more deadly weapon than her simple blade. Heavy gilded Dwemeri metal crashed against her black armor as I sidestepped the thrust, the keen edge of the weapon tearing the iron like cloth.

"Crn spas osim ako mene," she spat in a language unknown to me as the spells woven into the axe bit home. The ragged edges of the cut I'd made in the armor glowed a dull red as the fire-based enchantment ripped at the flesh underneath. Giving her no chance to recover, I stepped in and swung again and again - successive flares of heat blooming at each strike. Warily, I stepped back and hefted the Wish, waiting to see what the stricken woman would do next.

According to the lays sung by the bards, she should have lain down her sword and sued for mercy. If you've been adventuring yourself, you'll know it's surprising how infrequently things like that happen. With a loud cry, she hurled herself at me with the sword held high overhead. The vindictive blow struck the upraised shaft of my axe and stopped it cold: even as the sound of metal on metal was reverberating around the chamber, I brought down the axe - burying the curved blade in the top of her head.

Coolly working the Wish from its resting place, I stepped back and used a handy tapestry to clean the worst of the gore from the blade. Then I turned my attention to the ebon sphere that had been singing to me since I stepped into the room. I was wary about touching it since it was obviously a source of great power but I dare not leave it here in case there were others who would steal it while I searched for the other artifact. Reaching down, I picked the surprisingly heavy object up. There was a strange roaring sound in my ears and I felt a familiar tugging sensation.

I'd had a vision of a similarly sized ivory sphere in a chamber with intricately worked iron doors. Further more, I knew exactly where this chamber lay in relation to my current position. I can, sometimes, sense the presence of enchanted items - it's an ability over which I have no control and is part of my skill at identifying magical items. Never, in all my life, had I felt it so strongly: it was as if a golden thread glimmered before me and showed the way to the second relic. So overpowering was this knowledge that I had little option other than to follow the thread to its end.

Beneath the shrine lay a small complex of rooms. These housed supplies for the shrine and the living quarters of the priestess and her sister. They also currently housed two armored guards who were somewhat aggressively unhappy at my presence. However, a fey mood had come over me since I'd grasped the ebony sphere and I moved between them as they were acting in slow motion. The construct for the spell 'Boiling Blood' rose up in my mind, tier after tier of convoluted Arcana: their sluggish movements guaranteed their rapid demise.

The cowering woman locked in the cell was Coryn, the sister of Ariene. She told me that there was one more robber in the shrine and that I would find her behind the iron doors at one end of the complex. She also warned me that the woman was a skilled warrior. Taking the proffered key, I walked to the massive doors. How, I wondered as I slipped the key into the lock, had this other woman managed to get inside if Coryn had the key?

Such thoughts were fleeting, the sound of the heavy doors grating back on their hinges had obviously alerted the female inside and it was only reflex that saved me from becoming shorter by a head. With strength I didn't know I possessed, I shoved the armor-clad woman back a few steps and drew myself up to my full height. "Surrender or die," I offered as I hefted my axe.

"Die then," I advised as the woman screamed at me in the same language as the one upstairs and threw herself at me. Unlike the previous warrior-thief, this woman was more skilled and less impetuous. However, her vulnerability to the spells woven into my axe was no less pronounced. She was, however, still at a disadvantage, for that odd fey mood was still upon me. Her movements seemed slightly slower than they should have been, and I was easily able to dodge or block her blows. My first retaliatory blow surprised even me. There was a sonorous chiming sound as the blade struck her cuirass. A startled look crossed her face as the force of my blow drove her backwards helplessly.

Within moments, or so it seemed to me, I had struck another massive blow - sending her crashing against the door, while I had deftly deflected her strikes. The strange feeling that had come over me when I'd picked up the ebon sphere was growing stronger and I felt more and more... disconnected somehow - almost as though my actions were being guided and other eyes looked through mine. Almost without thought, I struck her down again, this time hearing something crack unpleasantly in her chest.

"Think you are winner," she panted, blood flecks appearing on her lips as she spoke. "I am thinking not. My Lord Zumars your head will have for this."

"Who is Lord Zumars?" The question seemed to be coming from a distance, and it was a moment before I realized it was me speaking. She snarled at me and raised her hand to her mouth and bit down on whatever was concealed there. Instantly, she went into convulsions and, before I'd taken the two steps necessary to cover the distance between us, she flopped back lifelessly.

Whatever force was driving me now spun me around and made me walk to the delicately carved podium at the end of the chamber. There, glowing with a soft inner light, was another sphere - this one pearl-white. As my fingers touched it, the strange mood I'd been in fell away, vanishing like a shadow at midday. I should have felt weary after such a prolonged series of fights but I felt light as a feather and oddly rejuvenated. Picking up the second sphere, I carried them carefully outside.

Coryn and Ariene were waiting for me, and the priestess soon took possession of the globes intending, she said, to return them to the mainland immediately. Coryn was slightly less distracted and thanked me repeatedly for recovering the relics.

"I have a present for you," she said, motioning me to the side of the terrace. There stood a wooden crate. "I trust it will serve you better than it has served me," Coryn said softly. "Please tell us where to have it delivered." Once more thanking her, although I didn't know just then what a princely gift she was making, I gave her the address in Labor Town.

I followed the main road further until I came to the turning for Pelagiad. The town itself was pleasant enough, and the people friendly. However, it was an odd thing. I'd set off this morning filled with the desire to see a town of the sort I used to live in but, now I was here, it seemed faintly alien and strange.

The 'Halfway Inn' served a nice enough meal and I ate heartily, musing as I did on the strange sensation of being driven that I'd felt earlier. While I put it down to Kynareth acting through me, I decided I really didn't like it. After all, wasn't I captain of my own fate?

Fate, or whatever Power it is that controls it, certainly has an odd sense of humor. I had just gone up to the bar to get another glass of Sujamma when I heard the proprietor address a customer, saying "I'd suspect Nelos Onmar of stealing the bowl if it wasn't for the fact he rarely leaves Pelagiad."

"Excuse me," I asked him as he served me my drink, "do you know Nelos Onmar? And what's this about a stolen bowl?"

He looked at me blankly, so I added ten Septims to the change on the bar and slid the money back towards him. He started to clean the bar with a cloth, making the money vanish in the process. "I heard, from the Ygfa the healer in the fort, that Piernette Beluelle has had a silver bowl stolen right from inside her farmhouse. As for Nelos, you'll find him over there."

"I might be, pretty lady," the richly clad Dunmer said when I asked if he was Nelos Onmar. "It very much depends on who it is doing the asking, and why."

I explained my presence to him, presenting him with the note and the glove the Breton had given me. He looked totally taken aback and sat down rather heavily. I sat opposite him and looked at him in some amusement as he stared into his ale. Then, like a dog emerging from a lake, he shook himself all over and stood up. "I have been a fool," he said, bowing slightly in my direction. "I overlooked the greatest treasure of all." Resolutely, he walked from the Inn as I sat there completely bemused. It was much later that I learned that they'd run off together and set up on the mainland together, in one of those little towns that dot the border.

Ygfa turned out to be one of the most profitable people I'd encountered in a long while. After she'd confirmed that the silver bowl I had back in Balmora was the one stolen from Piernette Beluelle and giving me directions on how to find her farm, we spoke for a good while. What we spoke of were the diseases of the island - many of them, she told me, unique to Vvardenfell. She told me the symptoms of the diseases and how to recognise them and also showed me how to mix up a potion that would cure both common diseases and the much worse Blights that I might be exposed to. The process wasn't complicated, nor the ingredients particularly difficult to acquire and I resolved that I would at least dabble in this alchemy lark until I was good enough to make curative potions for myself.

Returning to Balmora, I found an Orc sitting outside my house. He had been given some coin to deliver a large crate to me. I gave him a few more to deposit the box inside and stood looking at it for a while. When it failed to do anything unpleasant, I levered it open.

"Sweet Stendarr's mercy," I gasped as I took out the pieces of armor. There was no mistaking the design or color - they were the dark, sky-blue of the Order of the Air, edged in the traditional silver design of Kynareth's ministry. In addition to the full suit of armor was a blue robe with the device of Kynareth on the front.

I set out this morning for the Ascadian Isles, using the Mages Guild service to get me to Vivec City. The directions Ygfa had given me yester were excellent and it wasn't too long before I arrived at the farm of Piernette Beluelle. To say that she was delighted to receive the bowl back would be an understatement: and she also seemed very surprised that I'd brought such a valuable object back.

"Let me tell you a few secrets," she said. And so, for the next hour, I sat and listened as she told me how to get the best deals out of traders and merchants. What she told me might not have unlocked the secrets of the universe, but it was extremely valuable and would make sure that any future sales or purchases were more advantageous to me than the trader.

I left the farmhouse and breathed deeply of the morning air. I liked the Ascadian isles - the greenery, the fresh air, and the cries of distress...

I'd been walking for quite a while, drinking in the surroundings and luxuriating in the warm sunshine when I heard a small voice yell, "Is there anyone there? Can somebody, please, help me?" It was the voice of someone who's been yelling a while and doesn't expect a reply.

I trotted in the direction of the voice, coming at last to a small wooded glen. "Oh thank Vivec," the voice sighed, "Can you help me?"

I looked around, but couldn't see who was speaking. "No," the voice said, "I'm up here."

Perched precariously in the fork of a tree and almost hidden by the leaves, was a shivering Dunmer. When I asked him what he was doing up there, he fetched a long sigh and said, "Thoronor and I were making a pilgrimage to Kummu, you know, the shrine there? Anyway," he continued as I shook my head, "I heard some Kagouti nearby and came to have a look. Turns out the blasted things were in rut and they chased me. I finally hid up here until they went away. And up here I'm staying until those beasts are very, very far away."

Well, I could hardly leave him up in the tree until he rotted, could I? So, telling him that I'd see what I could do, I headed in the direction he indicated he'd come from. Sure enough, there was a pride of Kagouti in the next valley and they took an instant dislike to my presence. Now Kagouti are big and fierce but slow and boy, are they dumb. So dumb, in fact, that they just stood there and let me cast a couple of fireballs at them before they made any move to attack. By that time the air was filled with the smell of cooking meat and the few survivors didn't put up too much of a challenge.

Once I'd convinced him that the beasts were not going to be a problem, Edras Oril clambered down from the tree and sheepishly followed me back to the crossroads where he'd left his Bosmeri friend.

"Edras! What have you been doing," the little Bosmer clucked, rushing over to his friend and brushing leaves and detritus from the Elf's clothing. "Just look at the state of you." The Dunmer gave me a slow, challenging look as his friend prattled on - as if daring me to comment. "Where are my manners?" the diminutive Wood Elf said, rushing over to me. "Thank you for saving Edras ma'am. Please, we are but poor pilgrims and have little to offer but perhaps this trinket would be some recompense?"

Thanking them, I continued on my way, eventually coming back to Balmora.

Still unsure of what I should do next, I decided that I could head on up to Caldera and explore. I'd passed through, briefly, a few days ago. It had looked a typical Imperial town and, to be honest, I was trying to resolve my ambivalent feelings about that. On the one hand, I'd been brought up in (and had visited many) a town just like Pelagiad and Caldera. They were a known quantity, a familiar thing in a very unfamiliar place. You'd think, then, that the sight of them would make me... warm and fuzzy. However, the more frequently I visited them, the more I detested their bland sameness and longed for the strange and beautiful local architecture.

So musing, I passed the stark beauty of the Akatosh Shrine that stood beside the road, its gold and black banners fluttering in the breeze. Even though I was still in the region known as West Gash, the scenery around me was taking on more and more of the aspects of the Molag Amur. Not too distant, over the rolling hills, rose a massive line of sharp-backed mountains while the road I was on wandered around the base of a vast dark peak. As the straw-topped watch towers of Caldera came into view, my thoughts once more turned to the ancient cataclysm that must have ravaged this land.

I knew, now, that there was a vast volcanic region in the centre of the island and that this volcano had last exploded thousands of years ago. Even now, the echoes of that event surrounded me as I stood in the main square of Caldera - it must have raised up the mountains that surrounded the town, mountains that the slow passage of time had worn down to their current majestic peaks. Shaking myself out of my reverie, I started to explore the town.

Not that there was much to explore. Like all Imperial towns it boasted an Inn, a few shops and an Imperial garrison. The one in Caldera was particularly magnificent and obviously served as a home for someone of importance as well as the local guards. Of which there seemed to be a fair number.

"Ebony," one of the locals explained. "That's why there are so many guards here. The main centre of Ebony mining is just up the road away, and there's always someone who fancies his chances at pocketing a chunk or two. Strictly illegal, of course, and woe betide you if a guard catches you without a license and a pocket full of the black stuff." I knew of Ebony - who didn't - but only as worked armor or weapons carried by the richest of the rich. I'd even seen some, once, a suit of black armor worn by an Inquisitor who rode through the village. The local went on to explain that the previous Imperial Governor of Caldera had been removed and sent far away because of irregularities in his ledgers. Ghorak Manor, his residence, had stood empty ever since. The new Governor lived in the imposing structure on the hill.

I went to look at Ghorak Manor, but it was shuttered and locked. One the door fluttered a notice that baldly stated the Manse was for sale and that anyone interested should speak to Daran Atard. I laughed, drawing the occasional odd look from the passers-by. The 'offers around fifty thousand' line at the bottom of the note amused me no end: who would ever accumulate that much money?

Irgola the pawnbroker was my next stop, for I remembered that Folms Mirel had told me he had one of the Propylon Indexes the mage needed. My guess is that Folms had attempted to purchase the item before since Irgola wouldn't budge on the price.

"Five 'hundred," he said adamantly, "take it or leave it." With a long-suffering sigh, I counted out the coins as he reached under the counter and fetched out a large steel box. He rummaged inside and finally set something down on the counter in front of me. I blinked, I'd just spent about a third of my money on an unremarkable sliver of stone - dull grey and about the size of my thumb. I picked it up; noticing as I did that the flattened top of the sliver bore an inset circle of golden colored metal. The other thing I noticed was that the object was magically inert - not even a flicker of song from it.

There were cold stares all around as I entered the Caldera Guildhouse, the mages eyeing me warily as I made my way upstairs. Mirel, at least, seemed pleased to see me and quickly relieved me of the tiny stone and replaced it with a leather pouch containing five hundred Septims.

"While you've been gone," he said, "I've been doing some research. And I think I've found out where there is another Propylon Index. It seems that a pilgrim gave the stone to the temple in Vivec City. They, not knowing what it was, or what to do with it, sent it to the temple at Saint Olms. My guess is that they had no clearer idea what it was so they put it in storage. Find it for me, and I'll pay you another five hundred Drakes."

"Can you tell me," I asked, "why I seem to be so unpopular with the Mages Guild all of a sudden?"

"Hmpf," he muttered. "I would have thought the reason was self-evident... Telvanni."

So that was what the 'problem' was. I was a magic-user that they didn't control. Well, too bad for them. I made my contempt for their problems clear by swiping a complete alchemy set from an upstairs storeroom before leaving. I doubted that they'd miss it, given the disarray that the room was in: besides, I thought my need was greater than theirs.

Having grown bored with the delights of Caldera I headed north, following the weathered signs for a place called Hla Oad. The lushness of West Gash soon gave way to the different lushness of the Bitter Coast. There were insects buzzing everywhere and strange twisted fungi sprouted from the bases and trunks of the gnarled trees. The road, now heading downwards at a steep angle went past an ancient burial site, which the cartouche identified as the Norvayn Ancestral Tomb. Vast strands of ancient creepers overhung the door, whose rotting timbers sprouted more of those unpleasant looking fungal growths. Shivering slightly despite the heat, I carried on my way.

As the road wound it way around deep and rank-smelling pools, I soon found myself walking past the bulk of another of those ancient forts. According to my map, it was the fortress of Hlormaren but, after my experiences in Telasero, I was in no mood to venture inside and explore. So it was, by this circuitous route that I returned to Balmora and my welcoming bed.


	7. The Road To Power

Yestere had been extremely profitable for me, as I had pretty much spent the day practicing various spells, summoning, and combat techniques, not to mention a little alchemy. While there was no chance I was ever going to be partaking of the three greasy and foul-smelling concoctions I'd produced as a result of my experiments ∼ the other training had been extremely beneficial albeit tiring. So, it was with more than a little impatience that I responded to the hammering on the front door that awoke me this morning. I was just about to address the young individual with the appropriate venom when he thrust a parchment into my hand, saying, "Muthsera Hleran sends her compliments."

The note was brief and to the point:

_"The first stage of your stronghold is complete. Please contact me at your convenience to discuss further development." _

Even though I knew that, at this stage, my stronghold wouldn't be inhabitable, it was excellent news indeed. Dressing quickly, I spoke the words of the translocation spell and found myself in Sadrith Mora. Making my way into the oddly lit cavern, I listened to what Llunela had to say to me.

"I'm glad you came Muthsera Vahl," she said. "The initial phase of growth is now complete. However, your tower still needs to grow more and it will need to be shaped. Traditionally, a skilled Tekton does this but, regrettably, the current expansion on the mainland means that they are all very busy there. We could leave the tower to grow wild ∼ which rarely results in anything useable.

"But, when traditional means are unavailable, we have to make do with something else. It is said that the Dwemer had an artifact that could shape materials using sound. The book I read, by an Imperial named Hevou Thath, said that he'd seen designs for one such artifact in the Dwemer ruins of Mzanchend. I need you to travel there and locate these drawings, if they're still there."

Conveniently enough, the ruins I need are quite close to Uvirith's Grave: so traveling there was my first priority. I followed pretty much the same route as before and soon came to the twisted knot of roots and branches that would form the basis of my tower. They had grown considerably since the last time, now being something like twice the height of a Mer. The environs, unfortunately, hadn't improved any: the dust still lay thick on the ground and blew up in choking clouds at the slightest breeze. There was one change, however: and not a pleasant one. At the edge of the raised area of land upon which stood the hillock my tower was growing on was a campfire. Advancing cautiously, I made my way towards it.

"Greetings," the armored woman standing by the fire said, "what brings you to this gods forsaken plot of land?"

"This land is mine," I replied somewhat sharply, "as is yonder tower. What brings you to my property?"

"Ah well," she said, raising the visor of her steel helm and looking at me. "Firstly, my apologies for any offense Telvanni. I have a tendency to speak jocularly when, maybe, I shouldn't. As to what I am doing here, it's complicated."

"So, uncomplicated it," I demanded. She grinned wryly.

"At your command. My being here serves a two-fold purpose. The first is that I am a researcher: and what I am researching is the life and times of the Mage Uvirith. Where you aware that this is the very spot his body was discovered in?" I shook my head, although given that the area was named Uvirith's Grave, I wasn't overly surprised. "Yes," she continued, "and a very odd death he seems to have died too. He vanished from the Guild over in Balmora and, eventually, they became concerned enough to mount an expedition to locate him.

"After searching for many days, they found his corpse somewhere around here. It seems that he fell from a great height ∼ with the inevitable consequences. Which is strange, because he was an accomplished mage and knew spells of levitation and slow-fall. Even odder was the length of frayed rope tied around his waist ∼ what it was tied to at the other end, nobody knows."

"All very interesting," I interrupted, "but not really telling me why you are here."

"Well," she said, flushing slightly, "his staff was never found, although they scoured the area. It was, and probably still is, a very powerful piece of magical equipment. I had hoped to find some trace of it. The other thing is, recently I came into possession of a book of his that suggests he was looking for something very special ∼ and may even have found it."

"And what would that be?" I asked. She mumbled something quickly and quietly that I didn't catch.

"A flying Dwemer fortress," she snapped when I asked her to repeat what she'd said. I laughed until the tears ran down my cheeks while she stood there glowering at me.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed to splutter. "Are you telling me that you actually believe those children's' stories about a big flying castle that swoops down and rewards good children come New Life Eve?"

"Not in the slightest..." she started to say, then stopped and looked at me. "Perhaps," she amended, "I've found that there's often a grain of truth in even the most fanciful tales. But I've spent many years chasing those grains of truth and rarely found anything. Which means that I've spent a lot of money and have little to show for it..."

"Which brings you to the second reason you're here?" I suggested warily.

"I have heard," she said carefully, "that Telvanni Mage-Lords hire mercenaries and was wondering..."

"Well, I'm no Mage-Lord," I replied "and have no need of mercenaries at the moment."

"I'm willing to wait," she replied. I nodded thoughtfully. I hadn't really given any thought to the protection of my tower and, given my ambitious plans for my self, I really should. If I rose much higher than my current rank of Spellwright, I could expect the unwelcome attentions of the lower ranking Telvanni who wanted my position. A few mercenaries wouldn't go amiss.

"I'd be willing to consider you for the position," I said. "But I need to know that you're trustworthy. No offense, but you could be here to gain a position with me and use that position to a rival's advantage. Here's a couple of hundred Septims as a retainer. Keep your eyes peeled," I said as I handed over the money, "and when I come back I shall expect a report from you."

Leaving Kallin Basalius to her assigned task, I followed Llunela's directions until I found myself at the ruins of Mzanchend. The ruins were only small, much of what had existed was lost behind a massive cave-in, but they did boast a small array of those spider-type animalcules. Having filled a collection pouch with a small number of rubies and diamonds, I finally found what I hoped I was looking for ∼ a small sheet of the strange material the Dwemer used for writing and drawing on, covered in bizarre symbols and lines.

There was one other interesting feature in Mzanchend. Opposite the main entrance there was a flight of stairs leading down to a small corridor. At the end was a massive Dwemer door ∼ the ornate engraved kind rather than the simple iron doors that you usually find in a ruin. What made this door particularly interesting was the lock that sealed it. It was not a Dwemeric lock; rather it bore the ornate style of local manufacture. Whoever had placed the lock had seriously intended to keep people from whatever was behind the door: no amount of examination or magic seemed to make the slightest difference; it simply would not be opened.

With a resigned shrug, I left the intriguing lock (I admit, its presence there had piqued my interest) and made my way back to Sadrith Mora. There Llunela Hleran had something of a shock for me. She'd been studying the drawing I'd brought back for a while before she spoke to me.

"This device can be made: I have enough knowledge to make it myself. However it can only be used once and it's going to cost five thousand Septims to produce."

"Five Thousand!" I exclaimed.

"I'm afraid so," she replied. "Some of the materials are going to be very difficult to obtain, and there's a lot of work that needs to be done. It will take me a day, or two, to create this object but once it is done, your tower should be ready fairly quickly."

It was with a heavy heart that I handed over the money, five thousand Septims represented almost every Drake I had accumulated since arriving here, save the money safely tucked away in the Bank of Vvardenfell. It was with a much lighter purse that I returned to Balmora ∼ on the morrow I would have to see what could be done about replenishing my funds.

My plans for today were simple: pick an area on the island I'd never been to before and explore it for ruins, caves, or mines that could provide me with something to sell to get some more money. I'd never had much clink before coming to the island and had become accustomed to carrying a fair amount of coinage and buying those little things that make life so pleasant. Like food and water. I managed to sell the rubies and diamonds I'd collected yestere to Nelcarya but didn't get anything near what they were worth. Still, I had a couple of thousand now and a plan.

"Ex hic absum, ut Ald'ruhn," I chanted, and then found myself in the dusty square that forms the heart of Ald'ruhn. I ventured into the Mage Guild (where my reception was every bit as frosty as I expected it to be) and sought out Mrania. "I want a translocation spell that'll take me somewhere off the beaten track," I told her.

"Dagon Fel," she replied without hesitation. "It's a small Nordic outpost at the extreme north of the island. Apart from the town and a few Dwarven ruins, there's not a lot up there except wild country."

That sounded ideal, and I purchased the necessary spell: leaving myself in a worse financial situation than I'd been when I awoke. Another of life's little jests. Speaking the now familiar words, I took myself off up to this Dagon Fel place. Imagine a slightly larger, much poorer Seyda Neen: then add an air of damp, cold squalor instead of the warm, fetid squalor. That pretty much sums up Dagon Fel. A massive Inn dominated the small collection of wooden huts that formed the town, the huts clustered around the sizable docks that formed the focal point of the town. There was no ship at dock, but there were a large number of fishing vessels bobbing up and down on the waves out in the bay.

Much more interesting were the ruins that poked above the high hills that surrounded the town. Massive Dwemer towers, I could see two ∼ no, three of them from where I stood.

"Aye lass," one of the locals said when I asked him. "There's plenty o' Dwarven ruins tae be found up here. Them and fish. Pretty much all we got going for ourselves. Mind, there's plenty o' legionnaires up here as will take a dim view o' ye going in and just taking stuff."

Well, that seemed to mean that the ruins up here were pretty much off limits or, at least, those close to town. With a shrug, I settled my pack on my shoulder and set off in a northerly direction along the road out of town. I'd barely been walking an hour when I realized exactly what Mrania had meant when she'd spoken of 'wild country'.

Massive craggy peaks rose up on both sides of the track I was on, their sides bare of any vegetation and glistening coldly in the damp air. Every so often, the path would wander into a small hilly area and there the path would split off in half-a-dozen different directions. Since these tracks were not signposted and there was no other centre of population on this small landmass, I was reduced to picking a direction and heading off. Since all of the canyons looked very similar, I was soon quite lost.

To make matters worse, it started to rain. Not the soft gentle rain that I'd encountered in West Gash or the Ascadian Isles, nor even the heavy rain of my childhood in Hammerfell. No, this was a curtain of water that came hurtling out of the sky accompanied by the low grumble of thunder. Tip your head back and open your mouth; you could drown in rain like this. I stumbled over rock made suddenly slick with water, cursing and spluttering in the rapidly reducing light. A titanic boom split the gathering gloom as huge sheets of lightning tore the day apart. There, a little way in front of me was a familiar shape.

Slamming the door of the tomb shut behind me, I shivered as the water dripped off me. Not even the heavy stone surrounding me could muffle the thunder's rumblings, but at least I was somewhere dry. My pack had kept the contents dry, at least I had that to be thankful for, and I quickly changed into a dry robe. Tying back my hair, I took a look around me. Typically, there was a flight of stone steps leading down to a wooden door. Hopefully the tomb would be uninhabited by specters, or worse, and I could find an area inside where I could light a fire. However, prudence made me draw my axe before venturing down the stairs.

It's hard to say who was more surprised: the five lesser vampires who'd made this sepulcher their lair, or me. Actually, that's not true, the way my luck had been running of late, I was completely unsurprised. Five at once was far too many for me to deal with and I slammed the door on their astonished looks and legged it up the stairs as quickly as I could. Even as the lower door banged open behind me, I grabbed my pack and tore open the main entrance ∼ I fancied I could feel hot breath on my neck as I raced out into the rain. I had, many days ago, resolved to be much more aggressive but fate's games with my destiny obviously hadn't finished. When faced with a quintet of hungry leeches, running away is sometimes the only viable option.

Ignoring their jeers as they cowered from the daylight in the arch of the tomb, I made a rude gesture in their direction and set off through the rain. I needed to put as much distance between the burial place and me as possible ∼ I didn't fancy being on tonight's menu. Head down, soaked to the skin, I plodded on through the never-ending rain, taking random turns along the path as I headed roughly east.

So it was, sometime after the midday hour that I came to a small cavern. Come Oblivion or high water, I intended to use it as shelter until the rain had let up a little. The slavers who'd made the cavern their home were less than enthusiastic about the idea but a combination of steel, magic and a very aggressive Atronach soon solved that problem. The three Suthay-Raht and the very ill looking Argonian were delighted when I set them free, and insisted on gathering the slaver's spoils for me and assisting me in the preparation of a meal.

Slavery might be legal in Morrowind Province but there was no way I was going to leave these poor souls chained to the back of a cave to await their fate ∼ especially as that fate was probably starvation. Two of the Khajiiti and the Argonian took their leave after helping me prepare and eat a meal, but one of the Khajiiti remained with me for a while.

"Dark Elf not like other Telvanni," Ri'Dumiwa said, peering at me. "You set Ri'Dumiwa free, why you do this?" Wearily I explained why I had, that I disliked the idea of slavery in general and that ∼ even if I was well disposed towards the idea, I couldn't be responsible for the death of any number of slaves by starvation.

"Ri'Dumiwa not forget this, Dark Elf," it said, rising to its feet. "Ri'Dumiwa remember Telvanni name." With that enigmatic comment, it silently padded off out of the cave. I shrugged and huddled closer to the fire, feeling the chill in my bones abating as the warmth of the flames wrapped around me.

I awoke with a start, my axe had slipped from my grasp and the metallic clatter had awoken me from my brief nap. Stretching, I rose to my feet and looked around. I felt much better for my sleep and, once again, oddly invigorated. I put out the fire and sifted through the pile of spoils the slaves had gathered for me. Much of it wasn't of any use but I did take a number of scrolls, some throwing stars and three hundred and fifty Septims.

I was surprised when I stepped out of the caves, night had fallen and the rain had stopped ∼ overhead, the stars twinkled in a clear sky. Obviously my nap had been much less brief than I thought it had. I remembered a very comfortable looking hammock in the caverns that would prove ideal for the night.

Much of this day was spent clambering over rocks and sliding down steep inclines as I tried to make my way back towards the dump known as Dagon Fel. The inevitable Cliff-racers may have learned a few new swearwords, as I was fairly prolific in letting my displeasure of this benighted wilderness be known.

I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way because the path I was following curved down and around to a small rocky outcrop that blocked the way. Obviously I hadn't come this way. Backtracking, I followed the track back to the crossroads and then headed eastwards and then south at the next crossroads. This track led down to a nice seclude cove. I resolved to give it one more try and, if I couldn't get myself back to Dagon Fel by mundane means, I'd translocated there.

I had spent much of yestere and this morning railing against the games fate plays with the lives of Man and Mer. Whatever power dabbles in the life of insignificant Dunmer rogues hadn't finished playing with me ∼ only in whatever game it played it must have rolled a six. As I trudged along the westward track I came upon a door set into the side of a cliff. A splintered sign hung askew over the weathered portal and, through the moss and grime I could make out the characters **P..ai**

With trembling fingers, I pushed open the door and was greeting by the warm, fusty smell of an egg-mine. Shaking myself, I reminded myself that the story was just that... a story. Still, an egg-mine, long abandoned, with a name that might have been Pudai? It would have taken someone of much stronger character not to be excited by the possibilities. Carefully avoiding the egg sacs on the floor and stepping around the Foragers and Workers, I made my way deeper and deeper into the mine.

The Queens chamber was guarded by a couple of Kwama Warriors but my trusty axe soon made very short work of them. At the back of the chamber lay seven objects and I could only shake my head in wonder. No egg sacs these, they were large and shaped like an egg. But no egg I'd ever seen glistened with the mellow tones of gold as these did. They were incredibly heavy and the weight of them convinced me that this was no delusion or fever dream ∼ this was real. I resolved, right there and then, that I'd never scoff at an old tale again.

"Lassie!" Hrundi beamed, "'Tis fair to see your face again, I was a feared you'd left us for good, you bein' a Telvanni an' all now. Aye," he continued with a smile, "even here in our wee hovel we get a smattering o' news now an again. So, what is it that brings ye here?"

Wordlessly I placed my bulging pack on the table between us and fetched out the seven eggs I'd recovered from the Pudai mines. When I placed the first on the table, I thought his eyes were going to drop out, when he saw all seven he went quite pale.

"Ye're having a wee jest aren't you lassie," he said looking me in the eye. "Tryin' to fool old Hrundi wi' some Telvanni magic?"

"Feel one," I said, rolling an egg towards him. "Pick it up and tell me it's not real."

Hrundi gasped as he picked up an egg, feeling the solid reality of all that gold in one place. Carefully, almost reverently, he put it back on the table. "I believe ye lassie," he breathed. "Ye never played me false afore. Ye have tae tell me, where in all o' the world did ye find them?"

"Aye," he admitted when I just smiled at him. "Perhaps it's all for the best ye dinnae tell me. 'Tis yer reward you'll be wanting I figure?" With that he walked over to a heavy chest resting near the back wall and unlocked it. From its depths he withdrew ten bulking leather pouches and carried them, two at a time, over to the table. "Do you want tae count it?"

"You've never played me false before Hrundi," I countered, earning a beaming smile from the Nord.

"Ach," he muttered blushing red. "Well, anyway, there's one o' your lot that'll be pleased to get those. I've nothing else for ye at the moment, excepting a wee promotion. Congratulations Defender Vahl."

I staggered under the weight: the seven eggs had been quite heavy but they were nothing compared to the ten sacks of coins I now carried out of Wolverine Hall and down to the Bank of Vvardenfell. I deposited half of it into my account and converted half of what was left into a letter of credit. Having done that, I returned to Balmora, where I sold off my spare weapons, ingredients, and books before returning to Dura gra-Bol's house for some well deserved rest.

I hadn't forgotten my promise to the Duke and it was one I intended to honour fully ∼ as much for my own benefit as for anyone who might settle around my tower. When I'd visited last, I had spotted a couple of likely bandit hideouts and I fully intended to make sure that they weren't being used for that purpose. Translocating myself to Sadrith Mora, I made my way to Uvirith's Grave. I was surprised, and secretly quite pleased to find Kallin Basalius still camped near my stronghold.

"There is a group of bandits nearby," she reported, "I tracked them back to their hideout here..." she pointed to the map that was spread out between us. "There's also something quite odd going on over here..." now she circled another nearby area on the map. "I swear I saw several soldiers marching through there yestere but, when I went to investigate, I could find nothing."

Nodding approvingly, I gave her the pack of provender I'd brought in the hopes that she'd still be here and another couple of hundred Septims. "I'd like you to stay another few days if you're determined to serve as a mercenary for me, sort of keep an eye on the place a bit more."

"I can do that, boss," she said with a grin. I grinned back: her enthusiasm was certainly infectious. I decided here and then that I trusted her ∼ almost trusted her, and would start by investigating the bandits she said she'd seen a little way off to the west. Following the lay of the land, I rounded the large ash-mound that lay near my stronghold and followed the path south to the little canyon Kallin had indicated. As I crouched behind some rocks and stared into the short valley, it occurred to me that the route to Zenerbael was ideal territory for an ambush. This would, as they say, be the conclusive proof of Basalius' loyalty and veracity.

I called the summoning spell to mind and held it ready (just in case) and made my way down the rock-strewn path towards the weathered door. Arriving there unmolested, I felt a little more relaxed about following Basalius' advice. The door, unlocked and unwarded, swung open ∼ the silence with which it did so belying it's apparent unused state.

The torches lit the dark rock walls of the downward sloping passageway, revealing a bored looking Dunmeri woman slouched against a rocky outcrop. Her eyes widened but any cry of alarm she intended to make died stillborn in her throat. That might have had something to do with the red-feathered iron arrow that suddenly blocked it and ended her life in a gush of dark blood. I licked my lips nervously, once more a lucky shot had saved my hide but I wasn't too sure how often I could rely on such luck.

There were two more bandits in the cavern, but sneaking up on them was impossible. The entranceway led to a ledge, from which a wooden walkway descended into a large area, passing over a deep pool as it did so. Anyone standing on the walkway, or even the ledge, was horribly exposed ∼ as I quickly found out. Screaming obscenities, the Dunmer who was patrolling the lower chamber drew a short, vicious looking sward and rushed at me. Fortunately, as I was at a greater elevation than him, I had a distinct advantage.

Right up until the moment the third Dunmer heard the clash of steel on steel and came rushing from another chamber to add his blade to the fray. I was hard pressed, I don't mind admitting, and fought back furiously. Slowly and inexorably I was being driven back up the ramp since they both had room to stand side-by-side and attack me. A glancing blow opened a gash on my arm as I parried a blow. This wasn't going perfectly. It is just as well, then, that a Telvanni rarely fights alone.

"Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata" I chanted. Strange shadows and shapes rippled across the bare rock of the tunnel wall, finally resolving into the form of an Atronach. Between us we made fairly short work of the two Dunmer bandits. A thorough exploration of their hideout revealed that they had not been particularly successful bandits ∼ although I did find a Thread and a couple of very nice shard weapons.

There was, as Kallin had said, something odd about the little canyon a way to the south of Zenerbael. A strange feeling of 'there's nothing to see here, look away' permeated the valley. I watched a young Kagouti wander out of the valley and start munching on the prickly thorns of a nearby bush. And then it struck me ∼ the valley floor was thick with the ash-dust that blankets this whole region and I had just seen a fairly hefty creature walk out of it. Where, then, were the Kagouti's footprints?

Standing just inside the two boulders that marked the entrance to the canyon, I extended a hand and visualised the shape of the magic I wanted to cast. When it was complete in my mind, I spoke the words, "Ostendo sum". There was a rippling in the air and, when it cleared, the little valley stretched in front of me.

Except that there was now a mass of footprints on the dusty ground ∼ and many of them were not Kagouti: unless you know many that wear boots. Moreover, what had been a blank rock wall at the end of this canyon now sported a door. Some powerful magic was in place here, I thought as the scene returned to its former tranquillity. Moving carefully, hands outstretched, I walked down the valley until I could feel wood under my fingers. The door wasn't locked, but did open with a creaking sound that made me freeze in place. When nothing happened, I slid my way inside.

The dark rock walls were lit from a light-source deeper in the cavern but there was nobody about. Carefully drawing my sword so as not to make a sound, I snuck further down the corridor. There was an odd warping in front of my eyes as a patch of thin air suddenly became the shape of a Bonemold armoured knight, the crash of his blade against my arm denting and cracking the chitin armour and throwing me forcefully against the rough stone walls.

I rolled out of the way as the heavy blade struck sparks from the spot where my head had been a few seconds before. Lashing out with my foot, I managed to strike the armoured warrior on the knee: eliciting a grunt of pain and forcing him a step or two back. That gave me just enough time to grab my fallen blade and scramble to my feet. My left arm ached abominably and there was an uncomfortable wetness under the armour that boded ill. We circled each other warily, seeking an opening. Silently, deep beneath the black rock, we fought ∼ thrust and parry exchanged at speeds that stretched the limit of my abilities. After moments that stretched like hours, we stood apart panting as we glared at each other. He had scored another good hit on me, once more damaging my left arm so that the blood flowed freely. I had managed to crack his shield, and he was nursing a nasty cut that ran from just below his right eye to the corner of his mouth.

Spitting blood from his mouth, the knight grinned ferally at me, he now had the measure of me and knew he outclassed me. Dropping his shield, he lunged at me and I managed ∼ barely ∼ to avoid his thrust. Knowing that his greater reach and longer sword were a major threat, I closed the distance between us and threw myself into the fight. We grabbled and slashed at each other until, with a leg-sweep, he brought me down. Straddling me, he brought up his blade for the killing blow.

My hand, scrabbling for my fallen blade, encountered something thin, round, and smooth. Without a conscious thought I grabbed it and brought my hand around ∼ hard. He looked at me in surprise, the sword falling from his hand as he gasped for breath. Wonderingly, he felt at the shaft of the arrow that protruded from his throat where my desperate, last gasp had embedded it. Then, with a soft sigh, he collapsed to the side and lay motionless on the rock. Shaking and in pain, I fumbled at my pack and drew out a bottle of healing elixir.

I gasped as I felt flesh knitting itself together again, and that damnable wetness on my left arm lessened considerably. I had a couple of bottles of healing potion left but I wasn't about to squander them right now ∼ the knight had been well trained and I didn't believe he was alone in Zaintirari. Of course, a quick healing spell completed the work of the potion and returned me to full strength even though I bitterly regretted squandering my magical reserves for such a mundane task. As I sat there and silently inspected my now ruined cuirass, I realized how foolish I'd been. Somebody had expended prodigious amounts of magicka to cloak and hide this cavern ∼ a fact I'd been aware of. I had neglected to consider, however, that the occupants of the cave might employ similar, high-grade magic.

To my surprise, the thick Bonemold cuirass fitted me quite well and made a more than acceptable substitute for the lightweight chitin cuirass I'd worn since my arrival here. And, because I was much stronger thanks to my adventuring, the weight of it wasn't onerous either. Freshly armored, I continued my advance down the tunnel ∼ now moving with as much stealth and care as I could.

There were four other warriors in Zaintirari, widely separated from each other in the large system of caves and chambers. None of them were trained to the same level as the first member of their band I'd encountered: which is not to say that I had an easy time defeating them. It was on the corpse of the fourth warrior that I found something interesting. He was wearing, or rather HAD been wearing, steel armor that facilitated the work of the Storm Atronach I'd summoned. The steel armor bore the unmistakable mark of House Redoran. As I squatted by the cooling body, I considered this carefully.

There were two options that I could see. Firstly: the Mer was a bandit and had acquired the armor from some hapless passer-by from House Redoran. That seemed the most likely explanation. However, the second possibility was far more disconcerting. It was possible that the Mer was actually of House Redoran and had been sent here for some unknown and nefarious reason: either to spy on me or to assassinate me. Supporting that supposition was the high-grade magic used to hide Zaintirari from travelers passing by (such magic could not have come cheap) and the very high quality of the equipment and supplies they had.

I surveyed the pile of objects I'd recovered by looting through the various barrels, chests, boxes and corpses. There, off in a pile of their own, sat a dozen scrolls inscribed with cunning and artful spells. Next to them lay ten bundles of arrows, as well as a couple of bags of arrowheads, some boxes of flights, and two bundles of silver arrow-shafts. Piled next to them was the armor ∼ most of it Bonemold, but several pieces of steel and iron armor too. Charms and rings adorned the table: most of them common and easily obtainable but two in particular caught my eye and which I was now examining. The first was a thick ring made of some dark metal: embossed on its surface were five fingers, each with some arcane symbol adorning the fingernail. The other was a thick torus of metal designed to be worn around the neck ∼ it hummed with the unsettling note of enchantment designed to fortify and bolster some aspect of the wearer. Then there were the weapons, bows, daggers, swords, spears, axes ∼ enough to outfit a small army. One dagger caught my fancy ∼ ornate and bejeweled and crackling with magic of a type I'd never seen before.

Sweeping up the items I'd decided to take away with me, I dropped them into the Hessian sack I'd appropriated for that very purpose and took a final look around the cave. As if the Powers That Be had decided to reward me for surviving this encounter by the skin of my teeth, I found a small locked chest that I'd managed to overlook in my initial sweep. The lock crumbled before the power of the ring I'd received from Baladas and I took a look inside.

House Redoran, definitely House Redoran spies. No mere bandit would have had access to the Ioun Stones I found inside the chest. I returned to one of the corpses and tore several strips of soft cloth from his jerkin. Using these, I carefully lifted each stone out of the chest and wrapped it up before stowing them in my pack. Black, brown, and multi-hued: I had no idea what each stone did but, having heard of the power of these items, I was fully resolved to find out. At the very bottom of the chest nestled another gift: a single Ametrine.

As I reached inside, I felt a familiar tugging sensation when I picked up the glistening red-hued gem. It was odd, I was getting a powerful sensation of magic from the stone, but it was completely mute. Shaking my head at the apparent paradox, I dropped the Ametrine into the pouch about my waist and walked back to Uvirith's Grave. There I thanked Kallin Basalius for her help before returning to Balmora.

The dagger turned out to be more than just a decorative piece. By focusing my will upon it, I found that I could manipulate the arcane fluxes that surround me in such a way as to greatly enhance my luck. Some residual effect of my experimentation must have lingered on for, when I sorted the scrolls, I found that I'd picked up an apprentice scroll.

It doesn't surprise me you've never heard of such a thing: they are increasingly rare in this day and age. They were much more common in my youth, albeit never a readily available commodity. These are scrolls written by a mage for his apprentice to use ∼ hence the name. They differ from normal scrolls in as much as, if you study one carefully, you can actually learn the spell written on it instead of just casting it once and using up the scroll. For an aspiring Mages, such as I was back then, they were a great boon. The one I had discovered taught a very powerful cantrip of concealment and was signed by a Mage named Breva.

Having spent yestere most profitably collecting several alchemical ingredients, both for my own use and to sell to bolster my dwindling cash-reserve, as well as my surprise discovery of the long abandoned ebony mine just south of Balmora, I was nonplussed to receive a letter from Llunela Hleran this morning.

"Esteemed Mouth, Sudhendra Vahl," it began, "Construction of the Dwemeri device proved much easier and quicker than I feared and its effects on your stronghold were little less than astounding. I am pleased to report that your stronghold has now completed the second stage of its growth and is ready for you to take up residence. Should future promotion elevate you in rank, I will be delighted to oversee the improvement and expansion of your Tel."

As you can imagine, I was greatly excited by this news: I'd never had a real place of my own before. Even this place in Balmora had been acquired by force of arms and, although I lived here, it wasn't really my 'home'. So it was that I wasted very little time in getting myself over to Uvirith's Grave to examine my stronghold.

The approach to the tower was along the back of the hillock where I'd met the Orcish overseer: although the dust had been fused together to form a solid surface and dark, monolithic stones had thrust themselves up on either side of the path. From the brow of the low hill, a 'bridge' formed from a flattened and shaped root spanned the distance to the heavy circular door set in the bole of the tower. The traditional Telvanni arch arced above the bridge, from the top hung a deep red banner inscribed with black characters. Reaching up, I held the banner steady as I read the words written there: **TEL ****VAHL.**

I expect it was a speck of grit that caused my eyes to water as I stared at the banner. Licking my lips, I let go of the heavy cloth and walked the short distance to the base of my tower. There was a woman standing there, hands clasped, watching me approach. "Muthsera Vahl," she said, bowing deeply. "I am Raissu Asserbas, appointed by Llunela Hleran to be the manager of your tower. My job is to oversee the settlement of any villagers who wish to make your stronghold their home. I also have a list of local resources and can provide the manpower to utilise them to generate revenue for your estate.

"I also act as door warden while you are away, protecting your tower with the help of any mercenaries you might employ and controlling access to your tower while you are in residence. In the name of the Tribunal, and by my ancestors, I swear now fealty to you and will serve you honorably and loyally until the end of my days."

With a lump in my throat, I thanked Asserbas and took from her the heavy key to my stronghold. The massively complex lock thudded reassuringly as I turned it, the carved semicircular doors swinging open to reveal the lower hall. Broad and spacious, the intertwined wooden walls glistened in the light from the twin crystals that thrust up through the floor. Directly opposite me, a corridor led down to a lower level while another led up to the upper reaches of the Tel.

Downstairs, misnomer thought that is, was a long corridor with storage niches cut into the living wood of the tower. A large circular area at the end of the corridor was bare except for the massive crystalline growth that formed the heart and soul of my stronghold. Upstairs there was a chamber with a comfortable bed, several shelves, a large storage chest, and a heavy desk with a profusion of drawers. Sitting on the shelves were books and storage jars ∼ along with a collection of Soul-Stones of varying size and quality. On the top of the bed, which had been strewn with the petals of some aromatic flower, lay a pair of silken sleeping garments. Finally, glistening in the light that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the chamber, I discovered a silver and onyx ring resting on the top of the desk.

"That?" Raissu said when I showed her the ring. "That's your stronghold ring. It is ensorcelled with a powerful translocation spell that will return you to the tower from wherever you may be."

I took a slight detour and spoke to Kallin Basalius before I cast Recall and went to Tel Vos. I directed the Bretonian woman to speak to Raissu Asserbas and introduce herself as the head of my mercenary guard.

"Well, well," Master Aryon said as I walked into his chambers. "I hear that your stronghold is ready and that you've made a good start on securing the area under your control. Excellent." He drew himself up and spoke mock sternly, "no self-respecting Spellwright should have a tower, it is most unseemly that one of such a low rank should be charged with control of an area of vital importance. Don't you agree, Wizard Vahl?"

"Yes, yes," he said, overriding my profuse thanks. "The promotion is well deserved Serjo Vahl; your dedication to the House is a credit to us all. Now, there are some matters I must discuss with you.

"You are, as I said, a credit and object lesson to all of us, your rise through the ranks little less than meteoric. I have no doubt that you already qualify for the rank of Master. And that is what we must discuss now. To rise to the utmost rank of the House, you will need to find a Mouth to represent you on the council. While I appreciate that you are less isolationist than those of us born to the House, the other councillors would see it as an insult of the highest order if you were to personally attend a council meeting.

"Which brings us to my second point," he said ruefully. "There are rumblings, my dear. Not all of the councillors are happy that you are where you are. While you can easily become a representative of the House, it is imperative that you have some support amongst the other Masters. Otherwise, you and I will never be able to effect any change in Telvanni policy towards the Empire since the others will rally together to vote against any proposal you put forward. I have mentioned this to you before, but currying favor with the other Masters of the House is absolutely necessary for your continued effectiveness."

"Can you make any recommendations about a Mouth?" I asked, tactfully avoiding making any comment about my willingness to assist in his plans for a rapprochement with the Empire.

"Unfortunately, no," he replied. "I suggest that you speak to the other Mouths in Sadrith Mora. They may know of someone suitable. Also, you will need to remember the traditional symbol of rank..."

Thanking him for his advice, I took my leave and translocated to Sadrith Mora. I did have, of course, the 'traditional symbol of rank' that Master Aryon had alluded to: but I was loath to relinquish my own Silver Staff of Peace. It bore a good deal of value for me, over and above its intrinsic worth: it was a symbol of my own growing power and puissance and, as such, was worth more than any amount of gold coin to me. That made acquiring a staff one of my priorities.

"A silver Staff of Peace?" Dalyne Arvel asked. "Hmmm, if I remember correctly, I think Galar Rothan might have one." She really is a font of useful information that woman and, on a whim, I suggested that she might like to contact me at Tel Vahl should she ever require a patron. She seemed completely overwhelmed by this offer and stammered her thanks accompanied by several deep bows.

Clutching the silver staff I had purchased, I made my way into the council chambers proper and spoke to Master Demnevanni's Mouth: Enar Roleth.

"I'm afraid I can't help you Serjo Vahl," he replied. "I do, however, have a message for you from my Master. He desires to speak to you on a matter of some importance. No, I don't know what it's concerning," he said when I questioned him further. "Master Demnevanni would only say that it would be to your advantage to speak with him before making any decisions about your future."

I fared better when I spoke to Raven Omayn. "There is a renegade Telvanni living in Balmora," she said. "Edward Theman is his name, although he prefers to be known as 'Fast Eddie' for some reason. He is an Outlander like you, but with less patience to play the game of Telvanni politics. He will, no doubt, be willing to serve as your Mouth." This comment caused a ripple of amusement but no explanation was forthcoming.

Returning to Balmora, I figured that one of the local inns would be a good place to start my search for this 'Fast Eddie'. It was either that, or knock on every door in town and hope that I find him.

"Gah," the Dunmer ensconced on the stool next to me said to his companion as I waited to catch the proprietor's attention, "I don't care how many oaths that champion fellow Larrius Varro swears. That magistrate has got the whole area sewn up tighter than a Guar's rear end. Short of wading in with a sword, he's never gonna root out the corruption in this town. Riddled with it, riddled from top to bottom."

"You hear about that Ralen Hlaalo?" somebody else along the bar proffered. "Stabbed I hear, stabbed in the vitals. He was banging on about that Atrius fellow and how corrupt he was."

"Nah," the first speaker said slowly, "'S got nothing to do with it. I hear that it was some lizard got uppity about being sold into slavery what done him in. Can't trust them Argonians, nasty lot they are."

"Do you know a Edward Theman?" I asked the barkeeper as I sipped my Sujamma ∼ which I'd paid way over the odds for as a way of bribing the fellow to answer my questions.

"'Fast Eddie'? Sure, I know Fast Eddie," he replied. "Has some dingy upstairs hole on the riverfront up by the Temple."

"If I should happen to hear about some lost mine," I said in a whisper, "who should I speak to?"

"Well, I reckon that information might be worth a bit more than a few Drakes on the price of a drink," the Dunmer said. "Alright, alright, no need to get hasty," he gabbled as I let a small ball of fire appear in the palm of my hand. "No sense o' humor you Mages, that's your trouble. You got information, real information; speak to Nileno Dorvayn at the Council House. You better not be wasting their time though."

I was not amused at being compared to those stuck-up do-nothings of the Mages' Guild but this was neither the time nor the place to teach the Mer the error of his ways. Pushing the unfinished drink aside, I walked out of the Inn.

"Edward Theman?" I asked the thin-faced Man who'd ushered me inside his house when I'd knocked.

"Yeah, 'Fast Eddie', that's me," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for someone to act as my Mouth when the time comes," I said to him. His response was immediate.

"I'm that someone, believe me, I'm exactly that someone."

"Why?" I asked. "Why are you that someone, why so eager to be a Mouth, and why are you called 'Fast Eddie'. And, much more importantly, why 'renegade' Telvanni?"

"Well boss... Serjo," he amended when I gave him a severe look. "I'm called 'Fast Eddie' and referred to as a 'renegade' for the same reason. I got into House Telvanni at an early age, one of the first Outlanders to do so. I rose quickly in the ranks to my present position of Lawman, mainly 'cause I was a quick study... 'Fast Eddie', right?" I nodded, and he continued. "And that's where my progress stalled. I'm only human, right, and I can't compete with you Mer, begging your pardon Serjo, when it comes to longevity. Ten score and ten years, you've heard that expression? Well, I wasn't getting any younger and none of the Mouths showed any sign of stepping down, or up and there were no new Masters coming along ∼ leastways, none that'd have an Outlander for a Mouth.

"And that's when Unela Arendus, the first Mouth of Master Neloth, got himself assassinated by the Morag Tong. Naturally, they thought I was guilty but, since they couldn't prove anything, they ostracised me. So I come here, out of the way like ∼ in case anyone got any bright ideas."

"And were you?" I queried.

"Was I what?"

"Responsible for the assassination of Unela Arendus?"

"Give me a break boss... erm, Serjo," he scoffed. "Arrange a Black Writ, on a Mouth, with the money I had? Ha, even now after five years of scrimping and saving, I doubt I could afford a Writ, Black or Grey, on a rat ∼ never mind a Mouth."

"Very well," I said after giving the matter a few moment's thought. "When the time comes I shall appoint you as my Mouth. On one condition."

"Name it," he said eagerly.

"That you never, ever refer to me as 'Boss' again." I admonished.

"Agreed Serjo..."

"Vahl," I supplied, extending my hand in the western fashion.

"Serjo Vahl," he said, shaking my hand. "You won't regret this, I promise."

Taking my leave of Edward Theman, I stepped back into the watery Balmoran sunshine and considered my next move. It wasn't difficult and, five minutes later I was blasting apart the lock to the Hlaalo manor in High Town and sneaking inside. To be honest, my motivation was a little light-fingered work just for old times' sake but the brutally butchered body of Ralen Hlaalo, sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, drove any thoughts of that from my mind. Whoever, or whatever if the rumors were to be believed, had killed him had been vicious almost beyond belief. Oddly, however, the wounds were not consistent with a knife: the weapon everyone said had killed this Hlaalu noble. They looked more... hacking wounds than stabbing wounds as though a small axe, rather than a dagger, had made them.

It was about then that I became aware of a soft noise upstairs, the sound of a woman sobbing. Moving stealthily since I had no real excuse for being here, I made my way up the stairs and pulled open the door from behind which came the soft sound of mourning.

"Please!" the Dunmeri woman squealed, "don't kill me. I didn't see anything, honestly I didn't..."

"Calm yourself Muthsera," I soothed. "I'm not here to harm you." It took a lot of patient work to convince Uryne Nirith that I wasn't there to hurt her and even more to persuade her to tell me what she knew. Amidst the sobs and tears, she told me that a Dunmer had killed her master.

"Not an Argonian with a knife?" I asked, determined to make sure.

"No Muthsera," she managed between the tears. "A red-haired Dunmer with an axe."

"Downstairs, in the main room?"

"No," she said, "upstairs in the master's chamber."

"Riiiiight," I said slowly. I had the picture now: a red-haired Dunmer with an axe, in the master's chambers upstairs. Mortally wounded, Ralen Hlaalo had staggered to the top of the stairs, falling down them when he expired. So why, I mused as I made my way out of the manor house, was everyone accusing an Argonian?

"Elementary," Nileno Dorvayn said when I asked her that very question. "Because the Argonian had means and motive. Nine-Toes makes regular deliveries to Hlaalo manor and was there on the day of the murder. Ralen sells slaves and was heard to comment that Nine-Toes would make an excellent slave. Means and Motive: just as I said."

"Except I've heard it was a Dunmer," I said.

"A Dunmer?" she repeated, obviously shocked.

"With an axe," I added.

"And not an Argonian with a knife?" she said, with a disbelieving tone in her voice. I confirmed that I thought everyone was persecuting the wrong person and offered to assist in catching the real murderer. "And why would you do that, Telvanni?" she snapped.

I shrugged. "Seems to me that it would be in everyone's best interest for the real murderer to be exposed and brought to justice. Rather than have an innocent killed..."

"I don't trust you Telvanni," she said, eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure what game it is you're playing, but I'm sure it's detrimental to Great House Hlaalu."

"What if I were to say that I knew the location of the Vassir-Didanat Ebony Mine," I said calmly. "And that I'd be willing to pass that information on to House Hlaalu for the right price? Seeing as how it's in Hlaalu-controlled territory?" (At least, for the moment it was I added silently).

"I couldn't help you with that," she said. Turning around, she plucked a yellow-bound book off the table behind her. "This gives the location of all of the councillors of Great House Hlaalu," she said, giving it to me. "I suggest you speak to Crassius Curio in Vivec City, he is the most likely to be able to assist you in that matter. I shall let him know you're likely to contact him...?"

"Sudhendra Vahl," I said.

Her eyes widened and she looked at me closely. "That's strange," she said, "Larrius Varro was asking after you just the other day. He's based in the Moonmoth Legion fort just outside Balmora. He wants to see you about something, wouldn't say what."

I didn't like the sound of that. I'd been studiously avoiding any contact with representatives of the Empire since Caius Cosades had unexpectedly made me a spy for the Blades. Now here was a Legion Champion, no less, asking questions about me and letting it be known he wanted to talk to me. And about a subject he wouldn't discuss ∼ that had an uncomfortable ring of official Imperial business about it. I decided that the best thing I could do was to go and see this Larrius Varro.

The Moonmoth fort was every bit as drab and austere as I'd expected it to be ∼ undecorated stonewalls rising high around a blocky central keep. The only splash of color was the silver device on the banner that fluttered above the shrine to Arkay in the courtyard. Larrius Varro was tall and heavily built, clad in that shiny armor so beloved of high-ranking Imperial officials.

"I have a present for you Novice Vahl," he said, addressing me by the title that Cosades had given me. "A very nice present from the Emperor himself. But I can't seem to remember where I put it. While I try to remember, how about I tell you a little story?

"Once upon a time, in a town that's not so very far away," he began as I sat down and listened to this lunatic. "There lived a very bad man in a position of power. Let's call him, for argument's sake, Magistrate Atrius. Now this very bad man took lots of bribes from other very bad men and, as a result of this, those very bad men never, ever went to jail. Now everybody knew that this bad man was doing this, but nobody could ever find any proof. And, because proof isn't as important as the very powerful friends the bad man had, nobody could do anything about it.

"Now," he continued, "at the same time there was this very good man, an officer of the law. He enforced the law because that way people were kept safe from the very bad men and safe people are happy people, right?"

I nodded, bemused and baffled by this 'story'. Larrius carried on with his recital, "it really annoyed the good man that the bad man was releasing the criminals as quickly as the officer was catching them. The officer got very frustrated because the very bad man's important and powerful friends protected him and made it impossible for the officer to do anything. Then, one day, the officer had a very pleasant thought.

"I can't do anything about the very bad man, he thought, but perhaps I can do something about the people who are bribing the very bad man." Larrius Varro smiled brightly, nodded, and carried on, "I mean, the officer thought, if those people weren't around then the very bad man wouldn't get any more bribes. And without the bribes, perhaps, just perhaps, he might not be able to afford his very powerful and important friends any more. And this made the good officer very happy. But there was a problem. Do you know what that problem is, Sudhendra Vahl?"

"I have no idea," I replied, even though I had a very, very bad feeling about where all this was going.

"Well," Varro said cheerfully, "the problem was, nobody would tell the officer who the naughty people were, the ones bribing the bad man. So the very good man offered up a little prayer, that the naughty people would get washed away... in a bloodbath... and never, ever bribe the very bad man again. Now, isn't that a lovely story? Not a perfect story because it ends with a prayer, but a nice story nonetheless."

"Interesting," I said slowly, "but why are you telling me this?"

"Because I think you might be able to do what I can't," Varro said, "namely, finding out who those naughty men are. I know that they're members of the Camorra Tong and that the Guild of Thieves knows who they are. But, because of who I am, they won't tell me. But they might tell you."

"So I would come and tell you who they are?" I queried hopefully.

"Oh no," he replied. "I couldn't possibly do anything about it ∼ there'd be no proof so my hands would be tied. But you remember my story, and the little prayer the good officer said? That the people who bribe the bad Magistrate might get washed away?"

"That's a very interesting story," I said, rising to my feet. "But I don't see what it has to do with me."

"I can tell you more interesting stories," Larrius Varro said. "There's the one about the outlaw on the Hla Oad road, or the one about... No, I know the story you need to hear.

"There once was this criminal who came to a new land and she got the chance to start a new life instead of rotting in jail where she belonged. Now the good officer, you remember, the one from the previous story? Well, he was intrigued by this, and more intrigued by the fact that, no sooner had she arrived than she was given a position in a very special organization, one that nobody is really sure exists. Now this prisoner starts to make a name for herself with a group of very powerful people, people who don't like the Empire very much. The good officer wondered what would happen if those people knew that their new friend was part of a shadowy organization that represents the very people they hate?"

"You wouldn't dare!" I spat at him as I grabbed the hilt of my sword. He smirked at me, dropping his eyes to my sword-hand. I realized how foolish I was being, attacking him here would be insanity.

"You'd be surprised at what I would dare," he said, patting me on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "Now, why don't you go away and think about my little stories while I try to remember where I put that nice present for you? Meanwhile, I would also think about finding out who the pawnbroker, merchant, scout, thief, smith, and servant are."

My mind was awhirl as I walked slowly back towards Balmora. I couldn't believe the nerve of the Man, threatening me in that manner and getting me to do his dirty work for him. The problem was, I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I had no doubt that Larrius Varro would inform Great House Telvanni that I was part of the Blades, and even less doubt about what that little nugget of information would do for my promotion prospects. To say nothing of the suddenly reduced life expectancy I would, briefly, enjoy. I had two options, neither of them good.

Firstly, I could go along with the Legion Champion's plan, find out who the 'naughty men' were and provide him with his 'bloodbath'. The problem there was that course of action would leave me open to arrest, prosecution, trial, and a very unwelcome visit to the local lockup. Or, Gods forefend, back to Alabaster Imperial Prison.

My second choice was to inform Caius Cosades of Varro's threat. And that course of action would put me firmly back in the Spymaster's orbit, and I would be pressured into doing whatever inane tasks he had for me. One of those would doubtlessly be to spy on Great House Telvanni: and that I would never do.

So, rock ∼ me ∼ hard place. Not a happy position to be and my self-delusion that I had two choices was not helping at all. Even if I spoke to Cosades, there was no guarantee that Varro didn't have the means to reveal my 'secret' to the Masters of the House. Gods, but I really hate these Imperial officials. Right there and then I swore, on my honor, that I'd make Larrius Varro pay for putting me in this position: pay a very high price indeed.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Sottilde said when I asked her about the Camorra Tong.

Making sure that we were unobserved, I showed her the pile of coins in my hand. She looked at them, nodded and mouthed 'later' before making them vanish with all the skill of a trained pickpocket. So it was, in the dead of night, there came a knocking on my door and Sottilde slipped inside.

"I must be quick," she said. "Otherwise I'll be missed. So listen carefully, I'll say this only once. The scout is Vadusa Sathryon; the pawnbroker is Marasa Aren; and the thief is Madrale Thirith. Thanelen Velas is the merchant and Sovor Trandel is a savant, not a servant."

"Where will I find them?" I asked as she turned back towards the door.

"Where any self-respecting member of the Camorra Tong would hang out in Balmora," she replied, "the Council Club." And, with that, she was gone.

Sleep, poor broken thing that it was, brought no clearer council on the problem that faced me. Needing more time to mull it over, I decided that I'd go and speak to Master Aryon. If I couched the problem in careful terms, he might be able to give me some useful advice.

"A pretty problem," he said, looking at me carefully. "This friend of yours is, effectively, being blackmailed by a person in a position of importance?" I nodded. "Hmmm, let me consider this. Meanwhile, I have a conundrum of my own for you.

"As you know, I took great pains to ensure that there was no question about the legality of your stronghold. The other Houses often complain that we are quick to establish prominence in an area where we have no authority." He smiled, "Often by establishing illegally built strongholds. I don't dispute that we have been guilty of this, and Hlaalu and Redoran have often been quick to attempt to wrest control of those strongholds from us. Ineffectually for the most part. Twice they have been baulked by your intervention."

He continued to speak as realisation came to me: that's why I'd been sent to Odirniran and Shishi! "Now it seems that House Hlaalu is taking a page from our book. Rethan Manor, built on the Odai Plateau near Balmora, is being built without a construction contract from the Duke. Therefore, under the rules that govern our presence on this island, it falls to us or House Redoran to do something about it. I wish for you to be the instrument of Telvanni justice: travel to the Odai Plateau and kill Raynasa Rethan, sack the mansion and return here."

I nodded, although this task had little attraction. Before I left, however, Master Aryon had the advice I'd wanted to hear. "If I were your friend," he said, "I would perform whatever task the blackmailer requires done. The time for retribution is when he feels unthreatened and secure and doesn't fear your friend. After all, an old Telvanni proverb teaches us: revenge is a dish best served cold, and the passage of enough time can cool the warmest meal."

With a spell I returned to Balmora, determined to follow Master Aryon's advice to my 'friend'. Finding the Council Club was no great problem; it dominated the little alley that ran between the main square and the river. Checking that I had everything I needed, I pre-prepared a spell and stepped inside.

"What do you want Outlander?" the Dunmer at the top of the stairs sneered. "Your kind ain't welcome in here." Well, wasn't this interesting? Here stood a Dunmer with red hair: at his waist was slung a small Dwemeri axe.

"Are you addressing me?" I said with icy politeness. "Who are you to tell me where I can, or cannot, go?"

"Yes, I am addressing you," he said, crudely mimicking my tone of voice. "Name's Thanelen Velas an' don't you forget it N'wah."

"Velas?" I said, pretending to recall something. "Doesn't your mother work down the docks in Ebonheart. They call her 'Ten-For-A-Drake' Velas don't they? Yes, every sailor's friend from what I hear."

"You what?" he screamed, totally taken aback. Sometimes it pays to have friends in high places, sometimes friends in low places were better. I had heard many a cutting insult from the peddlers who'd travelled through the village when I was younger and had memorized more than a few.

"I only repeat what I've heard," I said. "Wasn't it your father that was done for smuggling Moon Sugar, or was he the Argonian your mother lived with for a while?" I peered closely at his face, "Yes, you have the look of a lizard-mongrel about you."

His only reply was to jerk his axe from his belt and take a vicious swing at me. Which was perfectly fine with me: law of the land ∼ if someone attacks you, you are fully entitled to defend yourself. The blade of my axe interrupted his second swing. Grinning, I whispered, "Shall we dance Velas?"

Avoiding his wild swipe, the blade of my axe hissed upwards ∼ parting the black silk of his shirt from waist to collar and leaving a thin, bloody line along the way. He sucked in a breath and swung again for my head. Ducking, I neatly straightened as he spun partially around, grabbing that ridiculous mane of hair that hung down his back and giving him an impromptu haircut.

"Not so good when it's not dark are you Velas?" I goaded, "Pretty poor when your victim's not got his back turned or isn't asleep in his bed."

He lost it totally then, frothing at the mouth as the fine rain of red hair settled around his feet. I may not be the best fighter in the world but there's one thing I do know: a furious opponent is a careless opponent. I twisted to avoid a blow that would have gutted me like a Slaughterfish, bringing my blade up hard. Over his falsetto scream, I leant in and whispered "This one's for Ralen Hlaalo, you scum."

Leaving him unmanned and bleeding to death, I wiped my blade on his shirt and slung it back across my pack.

"What the Oblivion was that scream?" one of the men downstairs asked as I stepped into the bar of the club. I shrugged, watching as the three of them headed up the stairs to discover my handiwork for themselves. The barman gave me a flat, menacing look ∼ his hand sliding beneath the counter in a gesture that was well known to me. Giving him a little shake of the head, I silently warned him not to get involved. His eyes cut left, looking towards the arched doorway beside the bar.

Moving quickly now, I headed through the arch and down the stairs. Of the two doors at the bottom, one was locked. Stepping through the open door, I confronted a petit woman.

"Ahh, there you are," I said cheerfully. Reaching into my pouch, I fetched out a 10-Septim piece and flipped it over to her.

"What the bloody Oblivion is this?" she said, looking at the coin that nestled in her palm.

"I would have thought that was obvious," I replied, trying to appear genuinely puzzled. "Ten Drakes, anything goes, a good time had by all? At least, that's what the Mer upstairs said."

"You're treading on thin ice Fetcher," she hissed, spitting on the coin and letting it drop to the floor. "Do you know who I am?"

"I have a very good idea," I said, slipping the dagger from my boot as I bent to pick up the coin. "A common little trollop with less sense than she was born with." She coughed, eyes widening as the bloody foam stained her lips. "Message for you from Larrius Varro," I whispered into her ear as her eyes started to glaze over, "you've been a very baaaa-d girl."

Jerking the dagger-blade upwards and twisting as I yanked it out, I pushed her lifeless frame away from me, allowing it to collapse on the bed. So far I had been lucky, but I knew that the three remaining members of the Camorra Tong would have discovered the ruin of Thanelen Velas on the lobby floor and put two and two together. Even if one of them wasn't a savant, I was pretty sure they'd arrive at the right answer. Getting this far had been easy, getting out again wouldn't.

"Well, well, well," the extravagantly dressed Dunmer said as I stepped back into the barroom. "Aren't you the adventurous type? Come to right a few wrongs, have we? Coming in here like some cheap little assassin."

"Well," I said with great daring, "it just so happens that I have this piece of paper here." With that, I reached into my satchel and fetched out a rolled up piece of parchment. They took a step back as I unrolled it. They actually did. Then the usual Vahl luck flared up again.

"'Ere," the barkeeper said from just behind me, "that ain't no Writ."

There was a nasty sound, the sort of sound that can only be described as three weapons being drawn simultaneously. "Damn'" I cursed as they rushed towards me. Using the barkeeper's considerable bulk as a fulcrum, I swung myself up and onto the counter, running lightly along it as my three opponents milled around in confusion. One of them was quicker than the others, and a well-thrown dagger slashed my cheek in passing. Diving off the bar, I tucked and rolled, coming to my feet facing the trio.

"Exuro meus Hostilis" I snapped, extending my right hand.

"Holy sh..." the barkeep squawked, diving for cover behind the bar as the fireball exploded in the middle of the room. "...it. No spells, no spells. For the love of Azura, no spells," he yelled.

There was an entertaining moment while the three of them performed an amusing little dance, slapping at themselves to put out the flames the backwash of my spell had ignited. Then it all got deadly serious in a hurry. The richly dressed Dunmer, ignoring the still smoldering patches on his tunic, rushed in at me with his sword extended. With a twist, I hurried him on his way, hearing him emit a gasp as the pointy business end of his blade buried itself in the soft plaster ∼ driving the rounded holdy bit into his ample stomach. Sparing a second, I spat "Obscurum successio" in his direction before spinning to meet the other two.

I had another trick that the Tinkers had taught me, one I'd not used in a while. Grabbing the arm of the nearest Dunmer, I bent and twisted: dropping his weight onto my hip, before straightening and heaving up and away.

"Bugger!" the barkeeper said, diving for cover once more as the lightly built Dunmer crashed into the shelves behind the bar, showering the hapless proprietor with splinters of wood and a large quantity of wasted booze. Another thrown dagger bounced off my Bonemold cuirass and I turned my undivided attention to the only one of the trio not moaning he was blind or laying slumped in a pool of cheap liquor.

I had no time for finesse, the Dunmer behind the bar was already making groggy waking up sounds and the spell wouldn't hold the third of them for long. Feinting in with the axe, I grabbed a handful of silken fabric and slammed my head forward. There was a satisfying 'CRACK', closely followed by a scream of "By dose! You broke by dose."

As the business edge of my axe cracked and separated his ribcage, his nose became the least of his worries. Wrenching it free, I spun and hurled it at the mobster who was just clambering over the bar. He threw himself flat to avoid being scalped, giving me enough time to drag my sword from its scabbard and move towards him. Faintly, from behind the bar, I heard a moan of "Oblivion's Bells, me booze!" as the axe smashed rather satisfyingly into another shelf of flasks and bottles.

We locked blades and struggled for an advantage, neither of us able to gain it. Advantage Vahl: the blinded mobster chose that moment to blunder into his compatriot. I grabbed the Dunmer as the muscular thug righted himself and drove his steel sword forward. The blinded Dunmer made rather an effective shield. Shoving the mortally wounded Mer into his friend, I took a step back and a quick breath. Now to finish this. As Mister Muscle snarled and shoved aside the dead body hampering his movements, I reached in and laid a hand on his chest. "Vomica cruor".

The deadly spell's effect was almost instantaneous. The mobster staggered and looked puzzled for a moment, then roared in agony as the arcane fire did exactly what I'd told it to do. Jerking and twitching as his blood fizzled and boiled, the last standing thug managed a step towards me before his heart exploded in his chest with an audible popping sound.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, and I spun around furiously ∼ hand extended and a cantrip on my lips. I bit back the spell as I saw the heavily armored form of one of the local guards. "Hello, hello," he said, "what's all this here then?"

"Just a poor Dunmer defending her honor," I said. "Just ask the barkeeper, he'll tell you they started it."

The barkeeper's head popped up above the scorched counter like some small creature startled from its hole. As the two guards turned to look at him, I let the spell I'd almost unleashed on them flicker hungry fire across my fingers while I glared at him.

"Ummm, yeah," he said hurriedly. "It was them, they started it. Bad, bad they were. She done nothing wrong."

"Humph," the talkative guard said, turning back to me. "Well then, nothing to see here ∼ move along." With a sardonic nod of the head to the bar's proprietor, I stalked off up the stairs and out of the Council Club. Where I promptly had an attack of the hysterics.

Finally mastering my mirth, I cleared my throat and put on a serious mien. I couldn't believe it. Me, Sudhendra Vahl, flinging spells about like some Battlemage or Spellsword, crossing blades with no less than three well-armed thugs. I tensed as the two Hlaalu guards came out of the club but they simply nodded to me and continued on their way down towards the river. One thing I was sure of, I wouldn't be welcome in the Council Club for a very, very long time.

"You're bleeding," Uryne Nirith said, raising her hand to my cheek. "Here, let me." Despite my protestations that the wound was nothing more than a scratch, she insisted on cleaning it with a damp cloth and then treating it with a thick yellowish salve from a plain octagonal box. Personally, I was damn' proud of that scratch ∼ the only visible sign that I'd had a run in with five armed criminals. When she'd ministered to the wound, I insisted she accompany me to the Hlaalu Council house.

Nileno Dorvayn was still somewhat skeptical but, after hearing Nirith's description of the Dunmer who'd killed her master and my description of Thanelen Velas, she grudgingly admitted that she'd been wrong. With some ill grace, she counted out a thousand Septims and gave me the stack of coins.

"You know Nirith," I said as we stood outside, "if you ever feel a need to get away from these Hlaalu scum, there is an opening for a good cook at my stronghold."

"I... I might consider that," she whispered before scurrying away.

With a jaunty step, I walked out through the main gate of Balmora and cut along the banks of the Odai. The directions to Rethan Manor were simple enough; follow the Odai south until you come to the Odai Plateau. As I walked past the Shulk egg-mine, a sobering thought came to me. Balmora was no longer safe for me: the guards might have brought that little song and dance about me defending my honor but I'd wager ten Septims to one that the barkeeper had run straight to the Camonna Tong with my description. And they didn't strike me as the sort of people who just forgive and forget. Heaping still more curses on the head of Larrius Varro, I finally arrived at Rethan Manor ∼ my mood as black as the gathering storm clouds.

"If you value your lives," I snapped at the two bewildered servants that tried to bar my way, "be elsewhere." Even in the filthy mood I was currently in, I had no desire to re-enact the Redoran slaughter of innocents at Shishi. Not that that would slow me down in the slightest, if push came to shove. I'd had more enough of these turncoats, these traitorous Hlaalu scum: the stench of their corruption filled my nostrils like the smell of Guar dung.

"Rethan!" I snarled, stepping to the top of the stairs as the downstairs door slammed shut behind the departing servants. "For building an illegal stronghold, prepare to pay the price."

"Oh crap," he moaned, dropping the goblet of Matze he was holding. "Telvanni. Look, look, surely we can come to some arrangement? I have money, lots of it. Or an ebony sword ∼ you can have that if you like."

"You'd better pick up that sword," I said in a cold tone of voice. "You're going to need it. Especially if you think you can bribe me as if I were a money-grubbing Hlaalu swine like you."

With a snake-quick movement, he threw the concealed dagger at me. "Don't need a sword you wussy little mage," he said gleefully as the dagger slapped into my shoulder, puncturing the Bonemold armor and pricking me slightly.

Yanking it out, I grinned wickedly. "You need to throw a bit harder than that," I informed him.

"No, no..." he started to say. Whatever other plea he was about to make was cut off by the sudden impact of my axe against his temple. Bone cracked and there was a spurt of blood and other less identifiable matter before he'd finished. Ignoring the fallen corpse, I searched Rethan's chamber: the ebony sword was very nice; as were the ebony darts and throwing stars I picked up off the shelf. From his finger I took a ring similar to the one I'd found at Tel Vahl and, presumably, serving the same purpose and five hundred Septims from his purse.

I found it oddly difficult to concentrate as I made my way across the bridge outside Balmora and walked up to the fort. By the time I arrived, I was drenched in sweat and shivering despite the heat. The double-doors seemed strangely heavy as I pushed them open and stepped inside. What was wrong with...

"That's better, sip it," a gentle voice said. I felt cool liquid against my lips and was suddenly parched. "No, sip don't gulp," the voice admonished. I opened my eyes and stared into the grey eyes of a severe faced Man whose face was framed by a rough woolen hood. "You had a very narrow escape there Dark Elf," he said, moving the goblet of liquid from my mouth.

"What?" I croaked. Licking my lips, I tried again. "What happened?"

"You were poisoned," the Man said, "that's what happened. Fortunately, you managed to get here before you collapsed. You'll be thirsty for a while but keep your liquid intake down at least until the morrow."

"Thank you," I said, already feeling well enough to swing my feet around and sit on the edge of the rough cot. The cloaked and hooded monk inclined his head and stepped away, going about his business. When I felt well enough to do so, I stood up and went in search of Larrius Varro ∼ making a not-so-small donation to the chapel funds as I left.

"Well," Varro said expansively, "it seems my little story had a happy ending after all. I must congratulate you on a job well done, and done very discretely too. As it happens, I remembered where I'd put that little present for you; here it is with the compliments of the Emperor. And, as a personal thank you for your discretion, I'd like you to have this book from my own library."

I thanked him through gritted teeth, with a fake smile and polite words. Someday Varro, I thought to myself as we exchanged pleasant goodbyes, I am going to make you part of a story. And it's not going to have a very happy ending for you either.

I figured I was safe for at least one more night in Balmora: I simply didn't feel up to travelling back to Tel Vahl. That didn't stop me from scouring Dura gra-Bol's house from top to bottom for hidden assailants and securely locking and warding every window. As I sat, sipping from a mug of water to slake the incessant thirst that had dogged me all evening, I glanced at the small velvet covered box that Varro had given me.

Inside the box was a garish looking ring, made of a white metal and set with yellow stones. On the face of the ring was etched "Vir Quod Amplexus Procul Unus": 'Man and Surroundings as One'. Carefully probing the ring, I discovered that it bore a charged enchantment of concealment ∼ quite a powerful one too.

Master Aryon chortled with glee as I related the tale of my battle with Raynasa Rethan. "Oh very good," he applauded when I'd finished. "Amusingly enough I have here a document from House Redoran which makes the usual complaints about us building a tower at Uvirith's Grave.

"What makes it particularly delicious is the message I received today from our esteemed Arch-Magister. It seems that the Redoran have done exactly what they accuse us of doing ∼ building an illegal stronghold. Since you acquitted yourself so well, I'd like you to find the Indarys Manor at Bal Isra."

My reception in Ald'ruhn was fairly unfriendly and it took me a moment to realise I was wearing the hooded robe I had been given by Master Aryon ∼ the scintillating brown fabric clearly marking me as a Telvanni, even if you disregarded the House devices embroidered in gold on the collar. Well, I wasn't about to do anything about that right now, even though it made getting directions to Bal Isra difficult. My persistence finally paid off, and I was told that Bal Isra is along the road to Maar Gan.

The walk wasn't particularly onerous and I took the opportunity to collect a few samples of the wild plants that only seemed to grow in this area of the island. There's a small, thorny bush called 'Trama Root' and a huge creeping plant called 'Bitter-Green' ∼ the juice of which is amazingly caustic... as I quickly found out.

Indarys Manor, when I finally arrived at Bal Isra, wasn't impressive at all. It seemed to consist of a low, squat building with a couple of those odd, oval Redoran huts clustered around it. A tall watchtower rose up at the back of the walled off area, and I made a mental note to ask Llunela Hleran about something similar for Uvirith's Grave.

"Go and get Banden," a roughly-clad Dunmer called to a man lounging near the doorway of the squat building in the centre of the courtyard. "You can't come in here Telvanni," he called to me, rushing up with arms outstretched.

"And you're going to stop me how, exactly?" I asked, flipping one edge of the robe over my shoulder. Underneath I was arrayed for war: the ebony blade I'd taken from Rethan Manor hung naked at my waist and I'd repaired and polished the Bonemold armor until it gleamed. The Dunmer gulped, and took a step back, his arms dropping to his side.

"I told Serjo Arobar this dishonorable act would end badly," a bored voice said. "Now I'm going to have to compound that dishonor by slaying someone who's simply following the rules. Not that you Telvanni are noted for that."

The speaker was a young man with a shock of dark hair. An earring glinted in one lobe and a swirling tribalistic tattoo covered his left cheek. Like me he was clad in Bonemold armor and the unmistakable hilt of an ebony broadsword rose from the red and gilt scabbard hanging from his belt. I took an instant dislike to the fellow: probably because of the totally and utterly bored look on his face. Here was a young man ∼ most likely only a few years older than me ∼ for whom dealing death had already become tiresome.

"D'you want to set some ground rules Telvanni?" he asked with an utter lack of interest. "Or shall we just square off and have at each other until one of us is dead?"

"Here's a rule for you Muthsera Indarys," I snapped, unclasping my cape and dropping it into the dust. "Try to learn some manners in the short time you have left before I send your soul screaming to meet your ancestors."

He smirked and made a small bow. "My pardon my lady, I have been a complete bore. I am Muthsera Banden Indarys, Redoran House Brother and Lord of Bal Isra. To whom do I have the honor of speaking?"

"I am the Wizard Serjo Vahl of Great House Telvanni," I replied in the same insolent tone he'd addressed me with. "Mistress of Uvirith's Grave."

"So, that's the formalities out of the way," he said. "D'you want to fight now, or shall we chat a little longer?"

I shrugged and drew the blade from my belt. He gave an insolent smirk and drew his own blade. "Any final words?" he asked as he took up a fighting stance.


	8. The Becoming Of An ArchMagister

"Yes, how about Obscurum successio?" I inquired sweetly as I let the sword fall into the dust and cast the spell. He cursed as the green mist enveloped him, then cursed much more impressively as he realized what I'd done. Sweeping up the ebon blade, I spun ∼ a thin red line appearing at his throat. I stepped aside smartly as the severed artery gave way and a thick fountain of blood gushed out and splattered on the dusty ground.

(What? You think me fool enough to fight a Redoran House Brother on equal terms? I might have been improving as a fighter, but my increased muscles haven't stopped me using my brains.)

There was a good deal of muttering from the housemen as I took the ebony broadsword from the late Banden Indarys' hand and weighed it speculatively. Wisely they decided not to press the matter. The broadsword was shorter than the blade I'd taken from Rethan Manor and had a much better balance. I suspected that the Hlaalu sword was more of a status symbol than something actually intended for fighting. This blade, however, was clearly a fighter's weapon. With a grunt of effort, I managed to undo his belt and took the scabbard from it.

With the mass of the sword now hanging from my own belt, I stepped inside Indarys Manor. After all, to the victor go the spoils. There was more to the manor than met the eye ∼ much of the structure was buried beneath the ground. The place was pleasantly cool because of this and I admired the Redoran sense of adaptability ∼ build a manor under ground in one of the hottest areas on the island: smart. In the bedchamber, I found the spoils I was looking for: some three hundred Septims and a nice set of armorer's repair tools.

Master Aryon was delighted with my report and even had some more useful advice for me concerning the Hlaalu sword. "It's likely to be too expensive for most merchants to buy from you," he said. "This leaves you two options. Either you can sell it at a loss, or you can seek out a trader I've heard of. I have heard this trader is based in West Gash and has a great deal of money. Of course, your ebony blade may be worth more than the funds he has, but you're likely to get much more for it from him than anyone else.

"Now," he said, "if you wish to advance further in the House you really need to consider gaining support from some of the other Masters."

Tel Branora was my first stop this morning since it was one of the most remote from Sadrith Mora. As I translocated onto the wooden dock, I had serious doubts about what I was doing. Not about my elevation to Master, but seeking to curry favor with Mistress Therana. The only time I'd met her she hadn't exactly been the picture of stability. I still had the occasional nightmare about the poor Khajiiti.

"Are you not Sudhendra Vahl?" Therana asked. "Excellent," she said when I confirmed I was, "I've been wanting to meet you." I was astounded, she seemed to be very much in control: certainly more so than when we last met.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Serjo Therana," I said carefully. She beamed happily and I asked the question. "I'm wondering if there is anything I can do to secure your support. You see..."

"Pish and tosh," she said airily, waving a hand regally in the air as she interrupted me. "I know full well what this is all about Sudhendra Vahl. Well, if you want my support you'll have to bring me something that smells of Ash Yams."

"Ash Yams?" I asked, puzzled.

"No, no, no," she said, stamping her foot like a spoiled child. "Not Ash Yams, something that smells like Ash Yams. Tell me, my dear, were you born this stupid or did you have to practice?"

"Where," I asked as I bit down on a retort, "might I find something that smells of Ash Yams?"

"Why would you be looking for something that smells of Ash Yams?" she asked in a puzzled tone of voice. "Youngsters nowadays, they ask the strangest questions. I suppose, if you really want something that smells of Ash yams, you could try the Ghostgate - the smell is strongest there."

"Anything in particular I should be looking for?" I asked, growing wary as Therana started to pace up and down.

"Bow," she snapped as she came to a quivering halt, eyes flashing. Hastily, I bowed in front of her ∼ although I never took my eyes off her. "Silly little girl," she snapped. "Bow," she said, making a shooting gesture, "not 'Bow'. Now go away, I feel another of my headaches coming on."

I hastily made an exit, sinking slowly down the access tunnel as I heard Therana engaged in a fairly heated argument with herself. If I should find this bow she sought, I wondered if she'd remember that I was supposed to get it for her.

I travelled to Tel Naga in Sadrith Mora and made my way up to Master Neloth's champers atop the tower. He regarded me coolly as I approached and I was disconcerted to notice a subtle shifting of his personal guards.

"Who have you come to kill this time?" he asked. "Am I going to need to hire still more mercenaries?"

I assured Neloth that I wasn't there for any nefarious purpose. "I am here to seek your support," I told him.

"Ah yes," he muttered, "your impending promotion to Master. You understand, of course, that I cannot guarantee my support but, if you'd like me to look favorably on your promotion, there is something you can do for me.

"There is a robe of great power, called 'The Robe of The Dragon's Pride'," he continued. "Currently, it's in the possession of Senise Thindo of Tel Aruhn. She's a child of barely a century and the robe would have been mine but for the happenstance of her birth. Indeed, it should be mine. Provide me with the robe and I will reward you greatly and look favourably on promoting you."

I nodded by acquiescence, although I was pretty certain that it wouldn't be as simple as walking up to this Thindo and asking her for the robe ∼ especially if it was a family heirloom of some kind. With this in mind, I returned to the ground and walked thoughtfully over to the docks. From there I chartered a boat to take me to Tel Mora.

Mistress Dratha was blunt and to the point. No sooner had I been presented to her than she told me exactly what I had to do to gain her favor. "You're here to gain my support for your promotion to Master," she said. "I would approve it anyway, the Council needs more powerful women on it. Especially powerful women who are not totally insane.

"So, if you wish to gain greater favor with me, you'll visit Tel Naga in Sadrith Mora. There you'll find an irritating Bosmeri named Berengeval. He used to be in my employ but Neloth made him a better offer. When he left, he took an amulet with him. I want it back."

"I couldn't help but notice," I said, "that all of your guards are female."

"Well of course they are," the Mistress replied. "After Berengeval left with my amulet I decided that I'd make a mistake employing a man. Women are so much more trustworthy and reliable."

My final step was to void-walk over to Gnisis. Inside Arvs-Drelen I found Master Demnevanni in an expansive mood.

"You really don't need to gain any additional favor with me," he said. "You have my support regardless. Although, if you feel in need of a little excitement, I have something I need done. My research has reached a very interesting point: I've found reference to several Dwemer artefacts that carry enchantments. Now, since the Dwemeri didn't use magic (or didn't use it in any way we would recognise) it puzzles me how they would 'enchant' something.

"One of their most powerful artificers was a Mer named Dahrk Mezalf. Dahrk Mezalf is sometimes referred to in documents as Mezalf Bthungthumz. Now, interestingly enough, I found a reference to Bthungthumz in the Chronicles of Nchuleft. My contacts tell me that this ruin actually exists somewhere betwixt Maar Gan and the coast. I'd like you to travel there and see what you can find for me."

"I have something of a problem," I said to him after accepting his commission. "Therana has asked me to get a bow for her from the Ghostgate. At least, I think that's what she wanted."

"Poor Therana," he said kindly, "the passing years have been most cruel to her. Of course, her habit of worshipping the Mad One hasn't helped. Still...

"So she's looking for Ralyn Othravel's bow is she? I can't imagine what she'd want with it, as far as I'm aware it's not magical at all. Ralyn Othravel isn't likely to part with Auriel's Bow willingly, and I'll warn you now that he's a powerful and puissant Ordinator, charged with the protection of the Temple at the towers of the Ghostgate. If you really seek to obtain it for Therana I recommend you take plenty of fire-power.

"And," he said sternly, "When you get back, you and I need to have a long and serious chat."

As I took my leave, I thought about Baladas' parting words. Although I knew that the ancient wizard was well-disposed towards me I wasn't very happy about the idea of a 'long, serious' conversation with him. I was also bemused by the acquisitiveness of the Masters ∼ each had a desire to acquire an artefact of power. A prime example of Telvanni mores.

I returned to Tel Vahl after speaking to Master Baladas: partially to prepare my equipment for the morrow and partially to consider what I needed to do. Since the bow Therana wanted was at Ghostgate and Baladas wanted me to investigate Bthungthumz and both of these were much more remote than the other locations, I was resolved to start with these.

Maar Gan was my first destination, and I got there by the simple expedient of translocating to Ald'ruhn and then taking the silt-strider. I had taken the precaution of 'dressing down' and was clad in a simple robe and cloak that didn't mark me as a member of anything in particular. This made asking questions of the locals much easier, although the answers were not very helpful. As near as I could determine, there were two Dwemeri ruins near the top of the Foyada Bani-Dad. Either of these could be Bthungthumz.

I expected my journey up the Foyada to be uneventful; it held few dangers for me. I was to find, however, that it still held a few surprises. As I walked along, I became aware of an oppressiveness in the air ∼ which had become uncommonly still. The stifling heat increased as the sky started brewing heavy weather. Assuming it to be another of those torrential downpours I'd endured up near Dagon Fel, I raised my hood and carried on.

It soon became apparent that I needed to find some shelter, and find it fast before the very flesh was stripped off my bones. At first the wind-borne ash and dust that the stiffening breeze whipped up was not a major source of worry. But as the breeze became a wind, and that wind grew ever stronger, it picked up more and bigger fragments of ash and dust. Soon the air was thick with flying grit and I could feel it abrading my exposed skin and settling inside my armor even as the surroundings became lost in the swirling morass of dust. Lifting the cloth up around my mouth and tugging down my hood, I pressed on through the ash-storm desperately seeking some shelter.

The caverns known as Sha-Adnius provided a very welcome haven from the howling wind and abrasive dust. Unfortunately, the caves already had some occupants and they were not inclined to be hospitable. Fortunately, they were completely unprepared for my sudden arrival and I'd slain two of their number before they could rally themselves.

The remaining bandits, deciding discretion was the better part of valor, made a very hasty exit from the caverns, fleeing into the still howling storm. Which suited me, I was perfectly happy to have them run or die ∼ I have no time or patience for those that prey on weaker people. Like the six I found huddled and shivering fearfully in a locked cage at the back of Sha-Adnius.

"Khajiit know you Telvanni," one of them said in a puzzled tone as I unfastened the bracer from around her wrist. "Khajiit smell magic of Telvanni on you. Telvanni all slavers, why you release slaves then?"

A good question, and one that deserved a good answer. "Let's just say that not all Telvanni are slavers," I said, dropping the hateful hunk of metal on the ground. "But you can't expect the traditions of thousands of years to die out overnight."

"Tsani know secret," the Khajiiti said, taking a hold of my arm. "Slavers not know this secret, but Tsani tell Telvanni." She took me to a cleft in the rock wall and reached inside. When she withdrew her hand, she had a small egg-shaped yellow stone. Reverently, I took the Ioun stone from her, thanking her gravely as I placed the valuable gemstone in my pack.

It took a couple of hours for the storm to blow itself out, uncomfortable hours with me keeping a wary eye on the six slaves who sat on the opposite side of the chamber to me ∼ casting me the occasional baleful or fearful glance. The silence was thick and uneasy: we had nothing in common to talk about, they didn't trust the fell-handed Telvanni warrior-mage sitting opposite them, and I sure as Oblivion wasn't going to trust them for a moment. Too many deeply-rooted grievances on their part and I was uncertain whether or not one of them would dig up some ancient slight and decide I was responsible. So, it was with a great sense of relief on all our parts that we went our separate ways.

It wasn't too long after leaving Sha-Adnius that I spotted one of my possible destinations ∼ a massive Dwemeri ruin rising up from the side of the Foyada Bani-Dad. As I approached, I could determine another ruin just a short way to the north. If the information I'd collected in Maar Gan was to be believed, one of these was Bthungthumz. I did have a tiny little, almost insignificant problem. The sheer walls of the Foyada would make it impossible to clamber up to the ruins and I was loathe to expend magicka levitating over the valley walls in case I had need of some small reserves later. I had, of course, a couple of restorative potions with me but again, I didn't want to use them when there were two ruins to explore and I might need them urgently.

As I walked past the second of the towering ruins, I saw that the side of the Foyada Bani-Dad was breached a little way past the northernmost ruin; a shallow sided gully ran east for a short way before descending into the plains of desolation known as the Molag Amur. Pleased that I didn't have to walk all the way to the coast and cut around the volcanic ridge, I quickly set off along the defile and cut south until I came to the northern ruins.

This had once been a place of power and majesty, I thought as I surveyed the ruin. The harsh weather and passage of untold years hadn't been kind to the exterior ∼ but the remains of a magnificent bridge spanning two rocky outcrops and the stumps of two statues that had been eroded by time showed that this had been a place of some significance. Presumably, the bridge had once run to an entrance in the side of one of the towers but millennia had compressed and compacted the soft dust of the region into impassable rock blocking the end of the bridge. That left the lower access door.

Once sheltered from the excesses of the weather by the bridge, this too showed signs of intense wear. However, the Dwemeric runes were still visible on the door's surface ∼ spelling out Druscashti. Not the place I was looking for. You remember how I said that I am sometimes too curious for my own good? Well, this was one of those times. The opulence of the exterior spoke of the possibility of some great riches inside, or at least something I could turn to my advantage or profit. Unlimbering my axe, I headed inside.

Those of you who've been inside a Dwemeri ruin know exactly what they're like inside; those of you who have not cannot conceive of the weight of ages and the wonders that can be found inside. There are also perils, as I was soon to discover.

My first intimation that there was something wrong was the strapping Nord I found wandering the corridor at the base of the entryway stairs. He was clad in the fashion of his people: heavy furs and tanned leather. I approached warily, hoping against hope that he was not a bandit that had decided to make Druscashti his lair. For some reason, even when he laid eyes on me, he made no response or move to attack. Emboldened, I stepped in front of him and said, "What are you doing here Nord?"

"Muhhh," he said in a dazed voice. Other than that, he seemed totally oblivious to my presence. Even when I waved my hand in front of his eyes, he didn't seem bothered. I backed away; concerned that he might have some disease. His head turned slowly to follow me but that seemed to be the limit of his interest in the matter.

Keeping a wary eye on him, I took a quick glance around to get my bearings. In front of me, a flight of steps led down to a lower level; behind me a similar flight of stairs led to a landing that was obviously filled with the rubble of some long-ago rock fall. To my right was the way back out while, to my left, a short corridor led away into Druscashti, tuning sharply just a short distance away. It was the short corridor that I picked, as I didn't wish to descend into the lower reaches of Druscashti until I knew what was going on here.

I quickly came to a junction: the passageway in front of me ending in a pair of double doors while another corridor led off to another area. Just to add to my confusion, yet another corridor led off this one a short distance ahead. My indecision was broken by the sound of shuffling footsteps. As I readied myself for battle, an Argonian shuffled around the corner. Like the Nord I'd encountered earlier, he was supremely uninterested in my presence and, as I stood there, he shuffled past me without making any sign of seeing me. Just like the Nord, the Argonian seemed to be the very epitome of good health, just... disconnected in some way.

Rather more warily now, I took the route the Argonian had come from, pressing myself close against the walls and moving with every ounce of stealth I could muster. Peering around the corner, I could just make out a large open area at the end of the short length of corridor. There seemed to be someone moving about in the chamber and I assumed it was another of these dazed folk. That turned out to be a big mistake.

"RAURGH!" the Imperial roared as I stepped into the room. His eyes flashed in the darkness, not so much reflecting light as burning with a fire of their own. If that hadn't been enough to tell me what it was I faced, the rapidly lengthening canine-teeth removed any doubt. My axe hummed through a short and vicious arc, neatly separating the vampire from the crown of his head. Even this gruesome wound was not enough to slow the vampire down as he slashed at me with fingers suddenly turned into talons.

Ducking under his raking claws, I slammed the butt-end of the axe handle under his chin, using the wooden shaft as a lever to force him away from me. As his head tipped back there was an unpleasant splashing sound and the vampire crumbled to dust in front of my eyes. Breathing heavily, I took a look around to make sure the sound of combat hadn't attracted others of his kind. What I saw was enough to convince me that I had stumbled into the lair of a vampire clan.

This chamber was obviously a feeding place; the midden piles of crumbling and recent bones were enough to make that obvious. The vampire I'd faced had been powerful enough, after the fashion of it's kind but had lacked the bestial power of the truly ancient vampire. That meant that there were other vampires, including an Ancient, somewhere in this mausoleum. And that was not a comforting thought.

I could, just possibly, hold my own against a fully-fledged vampire such as the one I'd faced in Shallit ∼ maybe even against two. I might even be able to take on an Elder vampire, one whose span of un-life had seeped it in evil and power. But against an Ancient? I would stand about as much chance against that power as a child armed with a stick would against a Knight of Cyrodiil. I knew, from the few things I'd read about the Clans of the Illiac Bay, that Ancients abhorred even the slightest hint of sunlight and were often found in the deepest, darkest crypts and caves. If there were deep dwellings under Druscashti, that's where the Ancient would be.

And that's where I would most definitely not be venturing. Moving swiftly, I traced my route back to the entrance and walked into that most unwelcome of things when one is dealing with the Undead. My stay in Sha-Adnius had obviously been longer than I'd thought for, as I slung open the twin doors and stepped outside, I could see the lowering sun just clearing the low ridges. Evening was fast approaching, and evening was the time the vampires would be out in force.

Time was against me. Sooner or later another vampire would enter the feeding chamber and notice the dust of it's former associate. It would know that one of the living had been in the lair ∼ and I would then become the subject of the night's hunt. I doubted I could make the other ruin in time and, even if I did, there was no guarantee that I'd be able to secure it against a vampiric hunting pack. Heading out across the ash-wastes or back into the Foyada Bani-Dad was just as futile ∼ even if I could reach Sha-Adnius, it would be full dark before I got there... if I got there. No, just as I was running out of time, I was running out of options.

Even now, many centuries later, I do not wish to speak of it. The bitter fighting in the long dark beneath the ruins; the running, the screaming, the fear, and the fire as I unleashed spell after spell against the unspeakable evils that I found there. And of the final chaotic fight against the cackling ancient malignancy that drove and mastered the Clan I wish to speak of not at all. I count myself lucky that I survived relatively unscathed and, if I wake every so often screaming as long buried memories bubble to the surface, it is a small price to pay knowing that evil was cleansed from Druscashti by axe, and sword, and flame.

I slept not at all that night, shivering as I sat bloodied and shaken by a small fire outside the ruins. The doors to that place I warded with spells powerful and dire, draining myself of magicka in case I had left some vestige of that black sin unburned.

I welcomed the morning sun with outstretched arms, feeling it's growing heat burning the night's chills from my bones. Sparing a little water, I washed away the gore that had dried on my skin and surveyed those few treasures I'd picked up. Packing away those things I thought valuable, and could easily carry, I piled the rest up for any passer-by to take. Hopefully, in this manner, the aura of evil that clung to them like a foul stench would be spread far and wide.

Cleansed and made respectable once more, I shouldered my now much heavier pack and followed the faint trails southwards towards the second ruins. This time I was right on the money, the runes cut into the door cleared spelled out Bthungthumz. I entered the ruins with a good deal less insouciance than I had Druscashti ∼ once bitten, twice shy as they say.

Bthungthumz was a much smaller place than Druscashti or, at least, the accessible areas of the ruin were smaller. Like the vampire-infested mausoleum to the north, Bthungthumz had suffered from repeated rock falls and these choked off many of the side passages and chambers. Not that the diminutive nature of the ruin made it any less hazardous. There were several of the Type I animalcules ∼ what I'd taken to calling 'Spiders'. These particular models seem to have been modified in the past: instead of relying on their razor-sharp metal legs to attack, these spat a sort of venomous cloud. Perhaps these were some sort of experimental model? Whatever the case, the supply of poison seemed very limited and the range of the modified attack very short.

There was a Type III in the ruin too, although this one had certainly seen better days. The entire left 'leg' of the 'Mace-Man' was faulty, slowing the already ponderous machine to a crawl. Standing as far away from it as possible, I peppered the thing with arrows until, hitting something vital, I 'killed' it. In the small chamber off the room with the bubbling pit of molten rock where I'd defeated the Mace-Man, I met my first Dwemer.

Or, more specifically, the shade of one. Man tall and bearded, the phantasmal Mer extended its hands and launched a fire-based spell at me. I flinched as the powerful spell splashed against the wall ∼ even as it did, the ghost was launching another spell. The ghost seemed disinclined to close for combat and I was able to dodge the incoming fire. For a race that didn't use magic, the spectral Dwemer certainly seemed to have a range of powerful spells at its disposal. I had brought Umbra with me, strapped across the back of my pack: I knew it was possible to soul-trap ghosts and I was determined to find out if the shade of a Dwemer could be trapped in the same fashion. Placing my pack on the floor, I undid the straps that secured the black sword and hefted it experimentally.

As the almost constant stream of spells faltered, I launched myself around the corner and swung the massive blade. There was an odd, tugging sensation as the blade passed through the apparition and a sparkling mist sprang up around the point of impact. The Mer staggered, what appeared to be a look of consternation passing across its semi-transparent features. Again Umbra scythed through the figure, tugging streamers of ectoplasmic matter from it as the mist thickened. Once more I swung the ebon blade, this time the spectral figure threw up its arms and dissolved into a cloud of sparkling motes.

Once again I felt that sensation of heat in my pouch, what I was coming to recognize as an indication that a Soul-stone had received the essence of what I'd killed. The other thing of interest was the faint metallic clatter as the ghost disintegrated. Brushing aside the dust of its passing, I quickly located a small and ornate ring. Many magical rings sing with a pure note of magicka; this one was a chorus. The spells, if such they were, woven into the ring were incredibly powerful and totally alien to me. Scooping it up, I turned my attention to the rest of the room.

Finding little of interest, I used my stronghold ring to return to Tel Vahl where I found Raissu Asserbas waiting for me.

"Muthsera Vahl," she said, "I have some news for you. An alchemist has arrived, Gorven Menas by name, seeking permission to establish a shop and house here. I have given permission for him to find a site but told him that you will be the final arbiter."

"That's fine Raissu," I said. "You have my authority to approve the ordering of my estate. I only ask that you seek permission from me for any Imperials who seek to establish residence, and that you do not make any alterations inside the Tel without my permission. Other than that, you have my full confidence."

Baladas certainly gave me a lot to think about today when I delivered his ring to him. He insisted on rewarding me for fetching the ring, despite the fact that I hadn't gone with the intention of gaining any rewards. The first part of his reward was a ring, enchanted with a powerful spell that would call down lightning on my enemies; the second part of my reward was an ancient volume entitled 'The Use of Ioun Stones: A Practical Treatise'. This, he assured me, was the definitive work on these ancient and powerful charms, detailing as it did the use of Ioun Stones, how to create certain of the rarer and more powerful stones, and a brief description of the powers and abilities of some of those powerful stones. But, even this largess wasn't enough for Master Baladas.

"Outside, you will find something I have been working on for a while." Indicating the Type II animalcule that was currently rolling around the end of the chamber he said, "I have had a chance to repair and improve that. And, while I was at it, I had a chance to repair another Blade-Sphere. That repaired and improved Blade-Sphere will be waiting for you outside Arvs-Drelen when you leave. It has limited intelligence I'm afraid ∼ just enough to follow simple orders like 'FOLLOW', 'STAY', or 'GO'. I took the liberty of giving it the location of your tower so it will return there if told to leave you.

Ignoring my profuse thanks, he turned serious, "Now we have a matter of great moment to discuss. Master Aryon seeks to elevate you to the rank of Master in the belief that he will gain a valuable ally on the Council. Some time ago, you intimated to me that such blind loyalty could not be guaranteed. Is that still the case Sudhendra Vahl?"

"Good," he said when I told him I had serious doubts about Aryon's plans to integrate Great House Telvanni with the Empire. "There is a rank other than Master you can aspire to. When you are asked if you are willing to accept a promotion, ask to be promoted to the rank of Magister."

"Magister?" I asked.

"Yes, it's a rank that hasn't been used for some fifteen hundred years but it cannot be refused to any Telvanni that seeks it," he explained. "There is only one duty that goes with the rank: duel and kill the current Arch-Magister and take his place."

I felt my knees come unhinged, and I sat suddenly. Baladas grinned, obviously understanding the depth of my response. "I know the whole concept comes as a shock," he said, "but I'd like you to think about it. Gothren is, I'm afraid, not the right Mer to lead the House for much longer. Because of the rules that govern the House, none of the existing Masters can take the title of Magister and challenge Gothren. There are others, within the House, who might be persuaded to take the title but you are, I'm convinced, the right person for the job. I won't pressure you, you must make up your own mind ∼ but it's something I'd like you to consider."

As I made my slow way down the corridor of Arvs-Drelen, my mind was awhirl. What Master Demnevanni was offering was nothing less than complete and total control of Great House Telvanni ∼ and not just the Telvanni here on Vvardenfell, oh no. Total, complete, absolute control of all Telvanni-held territory here on Vvardenfell and in the surrounding Province. I had entertained ambitions to rise to a high rank in the Great House but Baladas' ambition for me was far greater than I had dared envisage.

My musings were interrupted by a rumbling sound, and I realised that the 'Shock Centurion' (as Master Baladas called his latest creation) had approached me. What was it he'd said to me? Oh yes.

"Go Home," I instructed the thing. There was a moment's hesitation, and then the animalcule extended what appeared to be a dish made of fine wire from its head. This dish turned as though seeking something before folding up and sinking back into the artfully hidden recess. Rotating on its base, the Shock-Centurion folded itself down into a ball and trundled off. As it started to accelerate, I was treated to the entertaining sight of a huge Orcish legionnaire being forced to dive out of the way of the sphere as it thundered past him with no intention of slowing down or altering its course. I couldn't help smiling as I considered the impact it would have along the route back to Tel Vahl.

That was to be the last happy moment on this particular day. I was buried deep in thought throughout the whole 'strider journey to Ald'ruhn: contemplating what Master Demnevanni had told me about the rank of Magister. I had begged him not to mention the possibility to anyone else, once I had an understanding of the rules governing the position, while I considered his offer. Even after the shock of his suggestion, he'd been able to surprise me further by presenting me with news that another Master of the House was willing to provide me with support and backing if I took on the rank of Magister.

My thoughts were all a-jumble when I arrived in Ald'ruhn, and the walk up the steep path towards Ghostgate didn't help to sort them out. However, the physical presence of the mystically powered barrier soon made itself felt. At first, you noticed a deep silence fall over the area ∼ unless they are diseased, no creature will approach the Ghostfence. Then, as you advanced further along the path, you begin to notice the dust dancing in strange whorls and patterns: at the same time you become aware of the deep basso rumble of the Fence itself.

Tall, was my first thought on espying the Ghostfence itself. Huge pylons of stone rose from the bare rock, towering high overhead. From the top of each pylon extended massive copper rods: it was from these that the swirling mist of the Ghostfence itself was extruded. The Fence itself almost defies description looking, as it does, no more substantial than a spring mist. However, as you draw closer and the sheer power of it settles into your bones and makes your teeth vibrate, you begin to discern flickering patterns sweeping across the vast expanses between the pylons. Actually touching the Fence is impossible, eldritch forces buffet and hammer the very air within a few feet of the Fence itself ∼ anyone foolish enough to make physical contact would be thrown away like so many leaves in a winter's storm.

Head down, drowning in the throbbing hum of the Ghostfence; I trudged along the path that runs beside it for a way. Rational thought, indeed any thought, is almost impossible that close to this edifice to power. None too soon, the path turned away from the side of the Fence, descending steeply away until the hammer of sound became a faint but disconcerting bone-rattling hum again. At the foot of the path, a broad canyon swept up the mountainside back towards the Ghostfence. At the top stood the twin towers of Ghostgate itself.

Cupolas of weathered bronze capped the simple round towers, the spikes at their peaks sparking and crackling with the power of the Fence which rose magnificently on either side of the canyon ∼ pylons of enormous size denoting where the Fence ended. Between the towers stood a simple gate, albeit of gargantuan size. A stone plinth stood before this awe-inspiring iron gate and, set upon it was a simple switch. This, I immediately understood, would open the outer gate and allow one to enter the dark tunnel that stretched between the towers. Partway down the tunnel was another plinth adorned with another switch. This would obviously open the gate that capped the other end of the tunnel.

Pressing my face between the bars, I peered along the tunnel and caught the tiniest glimpse of the Red Mountain region beyond. Black and glassy the steep slope looked, rising up sharply to block out any sight of the mountain beyond. There was something about that simple slope, something that made me shiver and turn away.

Inside the fortress-shrine, I was directed to Ralyn Othravel: although I'd known he was an Ordinator from my questions downstairs, it was still a shock to see that golden armor wrapped around the huge Mer. He indicated a willingness to speak with me, so I launched into the conversation. "I am given to understand that you have an ebony bow," I said. "I have some valuable treasures here and wondered if you'd be willing to trade..."

"No," he said flatly. I was surprised, surprised enough not to read the warning signs on his face

"But Muthsera Indoril," I said, opening my bulging pack, "I have glass armor, an Ebony blade, magical rings of great power and worth, I even have Ioun..."

"I said no, you blathering N'wah," he snapped, emphasizing his point by shoving his mace in my chest and pushing me away.

"But..." I started to remonstrate. Something inside Ralyn Othravel seemed to snap: with a roar of sheer fury, he swung the heavy, Dwemer-looking mace at my head ∼ clearly intent on separating it from my neck. "Oblivion!" I yelled, leaping backwards.

I desperately tried to calm the insensate Ordinator but he was past any rational discourse. To make matters worse, he was now between me and any way of leaving this upstairs area ∼ blocking my way to the stairs and pressing me back towards a corner. I could see no other way out of this than...

"Vomica cruor" I snapped, grasping his arm. The lethal spell caught and his eyes bulged as his internal temperature sky-rocketed. But there was something very wrong here. I'd used this ghastly spell three times now; because of its sheer power I tend to leave it as something to be used as a last resort. On the previous occasions, the results had been immediate and catastrophic for those unfortunate souls I'd used it on. Indoril Othravel was still trying to hit me with his mace despite the agony etched on his face. Indeed, I took a hard blow to the chest while I stood there in shock.

Finally, inevitably, the spell wreaked its bloody work on the Mer, tearing him up inside until he could stand no more. I was shaken by the experience; I had never seen anyone so enraged before. The Ebony bow, when I finally calmed myself enough to take it from the table, seemed barely worth the destruction of a fine warrior ∼ even one with such a temper.

I left the Ghostgate saddened and distressed. I had examined the ebon bow carefully and could find no trace of any spell or enchantment upon it. I had tried to draw the bow, but the thick ebony shafts meant that I could barely add any tension to the fine golden wire. I couldn't understand why Ralyn Othravel had become so enraged simply by my offer to trade for it. Certainly, it was worth an absolute fortune but I had been sure that, after some haggling, we would have arrived at a mutually agreeable price. Could it have been simply because I was an 'Outlander' ∼ was that what had made him loose his temper like that?

So wrapped up was I in these questions that it was only when the shadow of the cliff fell on me that I realized I'd taken a wrong turning as I walked down the mountain and wandered into this dead-end gully. The only thing of interest was the arched doorway to a tomb. The cartouche of which read LHEROS. So this was it, the tomb of the master smith Lheros. Since I was here, venturing inside wouldn't be too time consuming.

An hour later I collapsed on the threshold of the tomb, panting and battered, looking at the two rings I'd recovered from within. It was little wonder that those pupils who'd ventured to the tomb to pay their respects had never returned. The sepulcher was crawling, almost literally, with assorted Daedra. From the relatively easy to deal with Scamp, through creatures I didn't even have a name for, to the Winged Twilights, Golden Saints, and Dremora Lords. The rings sang with pure magic, but I was unable to determine what the enchantments did other than that they were some form of enhancement spell. I'd had a bad enough day and certainly wasn't going to slip an unidentified ring onto my finger ∼ let alone two.

I'd taken a few other treasures from the tomb, including an apprentice scroll and a large number of ingots. These went into my pack along with the rings, making the damn thing almost too heavy to carry. With a sigh, I slipped the stronghold ring on my finger and found myself standing in the bedchamber of Tel Vahl. The empty chest at the bottom of the bed took the majority of the items from my pack and, after flinging it into a corner; I flung myself onto the bed. Sleep was hard to come by: Master Demnevanni had given me much to think about and I deeply regretted the death of the Indoril Othravel.

Dawn greeted me as I left the tower and stood in the dusty vale of Uvirith's Grave. I couldn't help but notice that there was a small growth at the side of my tower and another conical growth a little way away from it. Raissu was quick to explain that the growth abutting my tower was going to be her abode while the free standing growth (which was actually a modified root-stem from my own tower) was to be Menas' alchemy store.

"And that is..." I asked, pointing to the deep rectangular pit that had been started off to the south of the tower.

"The mercenary barracks," she said. "I've put Kallin Basalius in charge of arranging that. She's got some stone mason in from Balmora to build the barracks." Anticipating my next question, she added, "Kallin is off exploring the area around here for any more bandit hideouts and to scout out the area. Apparently she's not too happy about the way these hills block the view of the approaches to the tower."

"Show her this," I said, quickly sketching the watchtower I'd seen at Bal Isra. "See if she can incorporate something like this into the defenses."

Raissu gave me a quick smile and assured me it would be taken care off. Feeling that the development of Tel Vahl was in good hands, I translocated to Tel Branora to speak to Mistress Therana.

"I don't want this," she snapped, glaring at the Ebony bow I'd given her. I'd felt a strange reluctance to hand it over but I reasoned that was why I was there so I'd given it her. "It stinks of Ash Yams. And I hate the smell of Ash Yams." I winced as the valuable bow clattered into the corner.

"If I give you money," she said, winking at me slyly, "will you go away?" I assured her that I would, knowing that any discussion of support for my promotion would be worthless given her current mood. She giggled like a little girl and handed me a bag she claimed contained five thousand Septims.

I left Therana's chambers at speed: whatever else the bag contained it wasn't money and I certainly wasn't going to open the bag and give her a chance to realize her mistake. From the bulk and heft of it, it was armor of some kind ∼ very, very heavy armor. I was prepared for just about anything other than the grey metal that greeted my eyes when I opened the sack. With trembling fingers I picked out a heavy cuirass made of the same grey/black metal as worn by Divayth Fyr. Strange designs were picked out on the surface in deep reds and crimsons and a heavy leather tabard hung from the bottom, front and back, to protect the legs. A matching pair of greaves was the other item in the sack. And both of them sang with high-grade magic.

Sloughing the Bonemold, I struggled to lift the massive cuirass onto my shoulders. There was no way on Tamriel that I could use this, but I just had to see how it felt to wear it.

"Here, let me help you," a female guard said, taking the cuirass from me. She was wearing what appeared to be the top half of an animalcule and the head of one too. I'd seen this before, on my visit to the councillors of the Redorans and had learned it was Dwemeric armor. Almost as heavy as the Daedric armor she was helping me into, so she certainly didn't lack for strength.

As the heavy metal settled around my shoulders I was aware of a very odd sensation. For the briefest of instants I was almost crushed under the descending weight yet, once it was in place, it was as though I was wearing no armor at all. I took several tentative steps, expecting to be on my knees after the first couple, however it was as though the cuirass didn't exist.

"A feather spell!" I exclaimed delightedly. All modesty forgotten, I quickly unlaced the chitin greaves and threw them down alongside the Bonemold cuirass. It was a struggle to get the heavy armor into place but, to my continued delight, they too were ensorcelled with a constant feather spell. This armor was a work of art, whichever enchanter had created these items had been a master at his craft: exquisitely balancing the spell so that it perfectly counteracted the weight of the armor. As for worth, I couldn't even begin to guess, the armor alone and without enchantments was worth more money than I could imagine. As it was, I was frightened to even speculate.

Throwing my travel-worn cloak over my shoulders, I spoke the words that would open a passageway to Sadrith Mora. From there, I chartered a vessel that would take me up to Tel Aruhn. When the 'Elf-Skerring' dropped me at the docks in Tel Aruhn, my first thought was that I was in the wrong place. The sight of the massive stone door set into the mountainside soon dispelled that thought. Despite the mass, the door swung open easily enough and I stepped into a winding corridor that delivered me to the other side of the mountain. Gothren's stronghold rose up from the side of the mountain, the top of the tower hidden from the other side of the island by the mountain-peak.

I narrowed my eyes as I walked through the slave-market that thrived near the stone door. While I understood perfectly that slavery was legal in Morrowind Province, such blatant displays made me distinctly uneasy. It was also an indicator of the Arch-Magister's nature. Of all the Telvanni sites I'd visited, only Neloth and Gothren openly promoted the sale of slaves. Therana had her slaves, but no market selling them, while I hadn't seen a single slave at Tel Vos, Arvs-Drelen, Tel Fyr, or Tel Mora. Of course, I hadn't fully explored any of the Tels except Master Aryon's so I might be making a mistake about that.

"Senise Thindo?" the House guard replied to my question. "She's a retainer of Gothren's, you'll probably find her in the living quarters atop the tower." That took me closer to Arch-Magister Gothren than I liked. Perhaps I was being paranoid, but I couldn't avoid the feeling that people were watching me rather more closely than they normally would. Perhaps it was simply that I was a stranger in a place that strangers rarely visit, and I really hoped that was the case. .

Senise Thindo turned out to be much younger than I expected, barely out of her teens. She greeted me amiably enough, only developing a frown when I told her why I was there. Moving possessively in front of a chest of drawers, she said, "Who are you here on behalf of?"

"Does that really matter?" I asked, maintaining a friendly attitude.

She shook her head. "I suppose not," she said, "but I'd be willing to wager money that it's Neloth. That greasy pig has been trying to get his hands on the Robe of The Drake's Pride since my mother left it to me." My heart sank; I'd been hoping that the robe would be easy to obtain after my experiences with Othravel and the Ebony bow. To find out it was the final gift of a dying mother was a bitter blow.

Not all was lost though. I had noticed a large number of Soul Stones scattered around and quickly confirmed that Senise was a trainee enchanter. Although it grieved me to do so, I made her an offer. "Look," I said, "I will make no bones about this; I'm here for the robe and I mean to get it. I'd much rather not have to resort to bloodshed if it can be avoided. So, here's the deal. You give me the robe and I will give you this ring."

She looked at the ring critically as I took it off and dropped it in her outstretched hand. Suddenly she stiffened and examined the silvery metal more closely. "Is this real?" she asked tremulously.

"Yes," I confirmed, "that is the Mentor's Ring."

"You're willing to trade this for my robe? The ring is worth much more than the robe ∼ simply for its provenance." I confirmed that I was willing to trade one for the other. With a nod, she slipped the ring onto her finger, her face flushing as the power it conferred coursed through her. Turning, she slid open the topmost drawer of the chest and fetched out a carefully wrapped package. Cutting the twine, she opened the waxed paper parcel and took out a green robe.

"Why are you laughing?" she asked, somewhat crossly.

"I was just trying to imagine Neloth wearing that," I spluttered.

Senise looked at the green robe, taking in the fine golden chains across the part that would expose the wearer's midriff; the raised and filigreed collar; the flare of fabric falling in pleats from the waistband of the garment. She started to chuckle. Soon we were both helpless with laughter, drawing several very strange looks from the other occupants of the tower as they passed by about their business.

With the transaction complete and the Robe of The Drake's Pride safely back in its waxed parcel and tucked away in my pack, I again opened the way to Sadrith Mora. There was one more item I needed to collect.

Why are Bosmeri so difficult to deal with? I sometimes wonder if it's the lack of greenery in their diet that give the whole race a collective death wish. I'd taken the same approach with Berengeval as I had with Senise Thindo: namely, offering some expensive item in exchange for the specific item I sought. Where it had worked with the young Dunmeri female, the offer seemed to enrage the Bosmer.

To cut a long and sorry tale short, I ended persuading the sawn-off runt to give me the amulet Dratha wanted with the sharp edge of an axe. He was an excellent marksman armed, as Bosmeri so often are, with a crossbow. It didn't seem to occur to him that his shots were bouncing harmlessly off the armor beneath my robe. Rushing towards him, I closed the distance quickly enough to render his crossbow completely useless and applied a little persuasion.

I returned to Tel Naga this morning, having spent the night at Fara's 'Hole-In-The-Wall'. As I expected, my reception was distinctly chilly.

"Ahh," Neloth sneered, "the mercenary-killer. I hope you realize that every time you visit my tower I end up having to employ a new mercenary? Who have you come to kill today?"

"I'm not here to kill anyone," I replied, biting back the obvious answer. "A robe you wanted, a robe I have."

"Excellent," Neloth said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "I might almost forgive you Berengeval and Engaer for this. Vares, pay our dear guest for fetching me the robe."

Neloth's bodyguard stepped forward, reaching for the robe as he extended a hand. My eyes widened when I saw what was being proffered, and I quickly snatched the robe out of the way. "**TEN** Septims," I said in outrage. "You plan on giving me a lousy ten Septims for the robe?"

"Of course," Neloth said calmly. "Taking into account the cost of replacing the mercenaries you've killed, ten Septims and my promise to consider approving your promotion is far more than fair. Never let it be said that Master Neloth is ungenerous."

"I'll give you some clues as to what else will be said about Master Neloth's generosity in a minute," I said, shaking my head at the sheer gall of the Mer. "Unless you're going to substantially increase that offer and give me a guarantee that you'll support me, I'll take the robe and leave."

"Leave then," he hissed, "but if you do, remember that I'll never give you my support."

"Then I guess I'll have to make do without your support," I said, packing the robe into my pack and preparing to leave.

His eyes narrowed and he gripped the edge of his chair so hard that his knuckles went white. "You've made an enemy here this day Vahl," he spat.

I calmed down somewhat on the boat trip to Tel Mora and, by the time I'd arrived at the docks and made my way up to Mistress Dratha's chambers, I was able to view the situation with Neloth with a surprising degree of calm. Dratha was far more empathic than I'd given her credit for ∼ which might explain the exceptionally close rapport with her Mouth.

"That is exactly what I wanted," she said when I displayed the Amulet of Flesh Made Whole. "I do hope that fool Berengeval put up a fight. As to payment, I have here some scrolls I thought you might find useful. They're to summon Golden Saints. Now, while that might not seem too generous a reward for obtaining such a powerful amulet, I will tell you that I have pledged my support to Master Demnevanni's plan and will support you whether you take the rank of Master or Magister."

So it was Dratha that Baladas had been talking about, the other Master that would support me in my promotion. I thanked her gravely. She had some additional information for me, "Gothren is old and partially blind on his left side. If you direct your attacks from that side, he'll have a great deal of difficulty dealing with them. Of more concern are the two bound Dremora Lords that act as his bodyguards. Some artifact he has summons them on a continual basis and binds them to protecting him.

"If I were you, I would isolate each of the Dremora and deal with them one-on-one. Trying to take both of them and the Arch-Magister on at the same time would not be a good idea if you have plans to survive for long."

It was after imparting this information that Dratha surprised me with her empathy. "You're troubled, what is it?"

I explained the situation with Master Neloth and she started to laugh. Slightly offended, but not wishing to offend her, I raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Neloth had no intention whatsoever of supporting you," she chuckled. "Gothren says 'jump' and he doesn't even stop to ask 'how high'. And Gothren is, of course, strongly opposed to your promotion."

"Why is that?" I asked in alarm.

"Simple," she responded. "You're a protege of Aryon's and Aryon's desire to forge closer ties with the Empire is well known. Arch-Magister Gothren believes that you will be the pivotal vote on the Telvanni Council, allowing Aryon to push his plans through. And that, let me assure you, is the last thing Gothren, Baladas, or I want."

I felt I was getting into murky waters here, there were layers upon layers of House politics that I simply didn't understand. "If you and Baladas are opposed to Aryon's plans, why are you siding with Baladas against Gothren if Gothren is opposed to them too?"

"To put it simply," she said, "Gothren is too old fashioned. He believes that Great House Telvanni should have no contact at all with the Empire. Aryon believes that we should open up the inner workings of the House and integrate ourselves with the Empire, like those Hlaalu are doing.

"Gothren believes that you are 'irrevocably contaminated' by your upbringing within the Empire. Those are his words, not mine," she added, smiling. "Because of that, he cannot conceive of a situation where you wouldn't work with Aryon to promote Aryon's plan. Aryon, on the other hand," she continued, "believes that you are strongly pro-Imperial and will, by default, approve of any plan that brings House and Empire together."

"Both of them are wrong," I said hotly. I was infuriated that Aryon had made such assumptions about me, even more furious that Gothren had made the same assumptions without ever meeting me.

"That's what Baladas and I hoped you'd say," Dratha said happily. "Tell me Serjo Vahl, if you were in the position to dictate how Great House Telvanni works with the Empire, what would you suggest?"

"I'd suggest that the House looks closely at any allegiance with the Empire," I replied, "to see whether it benefits the House or the Imperials. Where the benefit is clearly to our advantage, we should seize the opportunity. Otherwise," I finished, "we should leave the Empire whistling in the breeze."

"I had so hoped for an answer like that," Dratha said, her eyes shining. "Baladas was right about you, you are just what he and I are looking for. You see, my dear, we believe that there are great advantages to be had by complying with some Imperial edicts while defying others. Unfortunately, Baladas was unaware of my support for such an idea when he accepted Aryon's promotion to Master. He would have made an excellent Arch-Magister."

Dratha finished her crash-course in inter-House politics by saying, "There will be some opposition to some of the things that we do but, if you discuss them fully with us I'm sure we can bring the others around."

I recognized the trap in that statement, and was quick to set the Meric female to rights. "If I'm Arch-Magister," I pointed out, "I may seek your advice on some matters, but you will not be allowed to dictate Great House Telvanni policy."

She looked at me for a very long time, and I feared that I might have overstepped the bounds of what Dratha considered polite. Finally, she nodded and smiled and I felt a great weight shift off my shoulders. "The perfectly correct response," she said. "I look forwards to working with you... Sed Vahl."

I left Tel Mora feeling much happier about taking the promotion than I had since the whole idea had been suggested. I was still unsure what step to take next, but I knew I had the support of two powerful people regardless of what I did. Aryon would, I was sure, come around to accepting the new status quo if I went forward with deposing Gothren. If not... well, there are ways and means of dealing with that situation if it arose. Neloth's nose would be put out of joint if I became Arch-Magister while I seriously doubted Therana would even notice, or care. It was the thought of Neloth's reaction that helped me decide. I loathed and detested the Mer for the way he'd behaved and I could think of no better way to repay him than cutting away his power base.

"I hereby appoint you as my Mouth," I said to Edward Theman. "Here is your staff of office and here are five hundred Septims. For Azura's sake, get yourself some decent clothes before you turn up in Sadrith Mora."

Edward lived up to his nickname; leaving his hovel in Balmora so quickly I swear he left scorch-marks on the rugs. Squaring my shoulders, I spoke the words that would return me to Vos, "Ut locus Ego eram pro".

"You want what?" Master Aryon gasped when I told him. "You want to be made Magister?"

I confirmed that that was my intention and he gave me a slow and careful look, the sort of look that comes when someone realises that their carefully laid plans are about to go up in smoke and that you have the burning taper in your hand. I was about to speak when Aryon sighed heavily. "I knew you were ambitious Serjo Vahl, sadly I underestimated just how ambitious you are. Well, since I cannot deny you the rank, I hereby name you Magister.

"You realize, of course, that I am honor-bound to advise Gothren that you've taken up this rank? His response is likely to be... heavy-handed," he said.

"So, if it were to be done," I said, "'tis best it were done quickly." Taking my leave of a visibly shaken Aryon, I made my way down towards the docks at Vos. Hodrim the trader was at the docks and we shared a moment or two while I waited for the boat to finish unloading. True to his word, he let me take the pick of his stock as a reward for having cured his Guar: I boarded the ship with a set of Ashlander chimes tucked into my pack.

Tel Aruhn: and it was obvious that word of my coming, and the reason for it, had spread with the usual uncanny speed. People I'd exchanged friendly words with yestere now turned away quickly, seeking other business to attend to. The House guards were spectacularly conspicuous... by being nowhere in sight. Even the lower levels of Gothren's tower were empty ∼ obviously a lot of people had suddenly remembered pressing business elsewhere. That suited me perfectly: this was unlikely to be a battle of blade against blade and, when powerful magics are being exchanged, innocent bystanders tend to get hurt.

"So," a cold voice said, drifting down from the upper chambers as I set foot on the stairs. "You think to come and end a thousand years of my rule? Imperial upstart, did you think it would be so easy?"

There was a flicker as the two House guards, each armed with crossbows, stepped from the magical concealment that had hidden them. As they levelled their weapons at me, I sneered. Both Baladas and Dratha had been adamant on this point. "Stand aside," I ordered. "By the absolute authority of my rank as Magister, I order you to stand aside."

They hesitated, and I spoke calmly and clearly so that they'd be in no doubt. "You know the rules of the House. I am declared Magister and none may stand in my way." Then, in a kindlier tone, I added, "I'd leave if I were you lads, this will be no place for you in a short time."

"Sorry Serjo," one of them said as they put aside their weapons and started to descend the stairs. "The Arch-Magister never told us you had the rank of Magister. He simply said that you were coming here to kill him."

"Traitors!" the Arch-Magister screamed furiously as they made their way downstairs. "I'll deal with you later. After I've dealt with this Imperial scum."

I made no move to continue my approach for a few minutes, waiting until I'd heard the soft click of the door downstairs closing behind the soldiers. I had not jested; this was going to get nasty. Sure that the three of us were now alone in the upper chambers of the Tel, I finished ascending the stairs and stood in the short corridor that led to Gothren's chambers. I had one clear shot and, unshipping my bow I withdrew one of the Ebony arrows I'd found at Rethan Manor, drew back on the string and took careful aim.

"Scared to finish this?" Gothren's voice sneered. I made no reply but simply let fly with the arrow. As the enraged roar of the Dremora Lord echoed around the chamber, I dropped the bow and drew Umbra. Heavy, metal-clad feet pounded along the corridor and, like a storm the Dremora was upon me. Yellowish magic flared, and the creature was suddenly armed with a pair of Ebony axes.

Umbra crashed into the grey Daedric armour of the Dremora Lord, a thick mist sparkling with arcane power quickly obscuring the impact site. The Dremora growled ferociously but, as I easily eluded its counter strike and struck another resounding blow, I saw uncertainty in its crimson eyes. Again and again we exchanged blows, the heavy ebon blade scoring and denting the Dremora's armour while I, for the most part, avoided the whirling Ebony war-axes my opponent wielded. Those few blows that got through tore and ripped my travelling robe but the heavy Daedric armour beneath turned them harmlessly.

With a final bestial roar, the Dremora Lord sparkled and dissolved as I landed a blow that would have killed any mortal creature. Without a moment's hesitation, I spun to face the chamber door and intoned "Exuro meus Hostilis"

Nor was that the only fireball I blindly fired into the chamber of the Arch-Magister, two more followed in quick succession. While I had no hopes of actually hitting anything, I knew from the aggrieved shouts that the backwash of the powerful spells was causing havoc in there. And the more havoc I could cause, the better. My plan worked, I heard the Arch-Magister snarl something to his remaining bodyguard and the sound of armored feet coming down the hallway. Pressing myself against the side of the door, I waited as patiently as a spider.

"Vomica cruor" I yelled, grabbing the heavily armoured Dremora by the arm as it burst from the doorway. As the eldritch fire of the boiling blood spell bloomed and sparked around the creature, I drove the short steel dagger into its neck and danced out of its way. I knew that the dagger and spell combined would have little effect on the Dremora other than to enrage it. It threshed around wildly, stung by my spike and baffled by the roaring fire that spat and hissed, eagerly seeking some mortal flesh it could consume. "Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata" I snapped out as it turned feral, angry eyes on me and started to advance.

The Storm Atronach hammered its fists into the Dremora, halting its advance immediately. I hoped that my spells had weakened the Dremora Lord enough ∼ it was of a higher order in the hierarchy of infernal servants than the Atronach and, theoretically, should be able to defeat my Summoned easily. Now I could only hope that I'd inflicted enough damage to render the contest a little more equal. Sidestepping the two battling creatures, I flung a final spell down the corridor and raced to face Gothren himself.

As I skidded into the chamber, there was a huge flare of light and I felt something very hot and very compact flash past me and impact on the wall behind. The heat from the spell was ferocious and I realised, there and then, that exchanging combat spells with Gothren could end only one way. He'd had a millennia to hone and perfect his skills, I had but twenty-five to set against that long tale of years. In arcane combat, there would only be one outcome.

The Wish sang as it whipped through the air, startling the Arch-Magister badly enough that whatever spell he was formulating fizzled and died. With a frustrated cry, he withdrew a short dagger and lunged at me. Remembering the advice that Dratha had given me, I circled to the left and launched another attack. The blow caught Gothren high on the shoulder, making the grey-haired Mer stumble. Quickly righting himself, he raised his hands and began to mumble something as his hands wove in strange patterns in the air.

I groaned in frustration: wreathed in residual lightning and looking very battered, the Dremora Lord stood in the doorway. Desperately, I swung the Last Wish and was rewarded with a choking scream. Blood poured down the front of Gothren's robes as he vainly tried to staunch the gaping cut that stretched from one side of his throat to the other. The Dremora stood uncertainly, it progress across the chamber halted as its master focused all of his will on fighting the injury I'd inflicted. It was a battle he was destined to loose. As Gothren sank to his knees, the Dremora Lord flickered like a mirage and suddenly vanished in a sparkle of yellow light. Simultaneously, Gothren slumped forward onto the floor and breathed his last.

Wearily, I left the chamber - bone-deep aches and pains wracking my body where the spells and weapons had caught. I needed to rest and recuperate. As attractive as the idea of just collapsing on the spot was, I managed to fumble my stronghold ring onto my finger and returned to Tel Vahl.

My injuries now, for the most part, healed, I awoke this morning with a feeling of loss: a loss of direction. For a while now I'd been struggling up the ladder of Great House Telvanni. Having reached the top, I was unsure what I should do next. Actually, what I should do after I'd done the next thing.

"I'm sure that you will make an exceptional Arch-Magister," Aryon said, confirming that I was now Head of House. "There are certain duties you will need to perform, from time to time, but nothing too onerous. Of course, Sed Vahl, if there's anything I can do for you, you have but to ask." I could almost see him rubbing his hands together with glee, sure that his 'master plan' was nearing fruition with me installed as Arch-Magister. There would be time enough to show him otherwise. Indeed, given the techniques he had taught me, I had at least a couple of thousand years to teach him otherwise. And that was quite a sobering thought for a twenty-five year old to have.

"...matter, Arch-Magister." I heard him say.

"I'm sorry Aryon, what did you say?"

"I said, Llunela Hleran wishes to speak to you about an important matter, Arch-Magister," he repeated. Nodding, I thanked him for passing on the message and made myself scarce before he started going on about bringing us closer to the Empire.

"Firstly, let me extend my congratulations to you," Llunela said, bowing as I approached her ever-present fire. "The House has stagnated under Gothren's rule for long enough Sed Vahl."

"Thank you," I said, returning the bow. Here was another that had chaffed under Gothren's authority. Given the usually... pro-active nature of the Telvanni, I wondered what it was about the old Mer that had had everybody so cowed and willing to accept him. With his sudden and messy demise, I was never likely to know.

"We need, I think, to discuss your stronghold," Llunela said after pouring us both a tisane and we had taken a seat by the fire. "While the stronghold is certainly suitable for a Master, it is not a worthy dwelling for someone of your rank. I had a request from Raissu Asserbas this morning, asking for a contingent of House Guards now that you've been promoted. How is Raissu Asserbas working out for you, by the way?"

"She's a gods-send," I replied happily. "Exactly what I need to run the estate while I'm off... well, erm..."

"Adventuring," Llunela supplied with a smile. "Oh don't worry Arch-Magister, I don't think any of us expect you to settle down just yet.

"So," she continued, "I will send some House guards to you, along with Tadaves Saren: a highly skilled Tekton from the Mainland. It's Saren that'll be in charge of expanding your Tel to something more appropriate. But I think you need something a little special. You see there are a number of Telvanni who are going to look at you and think, 'I could beat that slip of a girl'. And that would open up a whole internecine battle within the House as various factions fought to promote or control whoever would be Arch-Magister.

"Baladas has been doing some wonderful work with animalcules lately and I think he could be persuaded to provide you with a force of them to protect your stronghold," she said. "They'd be loyal, nobody would be able to bribe them, and it would make a definite statement to anyone who thought that they could just march in and take over your position."

I couldn't argue with the logic behind that and the thought of a small force of incorruptible animalcules filled me with a secret glee. There was only one small catch. "There is a book that details the secretes of Dwemeric animalcules that Master Baladas will require. The book is in a Dwemer ruin close to your stronghold: the ruin is called Galom Daeus."

After getting Llunela Hleran to give me directions to this ruin, I used the ring to return to Uvirith's Grave. When I told Kallin Basalius where I was going, she gave me a worried look.

"I don't want to talk out of turn," she said carefully, "but Galom Daeus doesn't have a very good name with the Ashlanders in that camp down south. They all clammed up like Kollops when I mentioned it to them."

Assuring Kallin that I would take great care, I followed Llunela's directions to the Dwemer ruins. After an hour or so of walking through the blasted wastelands around my stronghold, I finally caught sight of the ruins: the towers rising up against the skyline on the other side of a lake of bubbling, molten rock. There was a small rocky path leading around the lava-pit, following this I quickly came to the heavy iron doors of the ruins. There was a good deal of scuffing in the dust before the door, but not enough to disguise the presence of footprints leading in and out of Galom Daeus. When I entered, I would not be alone.

I had feared that Galom Daeus was the home to a group of bandits who'd moved in to take advantage of the increased traffic near my stronghold. The reality was much, much worse. The patrolling vampire was not expecting me and I, forewarned by the marks outside, was expecting someone. Just not a vampire. As I crouched in the shadows at the top of the stairs, I saw the leather-clad figure moving around: the instant I caught sight of those glowing eyes I knew what it was I faced. Carefully knocking an arrow, I took aim at the doorway at the bottom of the stairs and waited for the undead woman to pass by again.

The arrow flew straight and true, unfortunately my aim was not as good as I would have wished. With a meaty thud, the arrow lodged itself in the woman's shoulder. With a bestial snarl, she turned to face me. Sometimes I wonder at whatever power it is that rules my life, to say it is capricious would be a major understatement. For, as the woman turned, her foot caught on the lip of the lava-pit that dominated the room and, with a despairing shriek, she staggered backwards ∼ blooming into flame even before she struck the roiling surface of the molten rock.

Knowing that she'd been a lesser vampire and that such creatures tended to travel in packs, it was with extreme caution that I made my way around the room and to the corridor that led deeper into the ruins. A grate of some dark metal stretched away from me down the corridor, which took a sharp right turn some thirty paces away. Beneath the grating more of that molten rock steamed and hissed. I was sweating profusely by the time I reached the corner: moving across the grate without making a sound proved difficult and taxing. The intense heat from the lava below didn't help much. Peering around the corner revealed a short flight of stairs and another length of corridor.

Placing my bow back atop my pack, I drew out the Dwemeric axe and gripped the handle tightly. With as much stealth as I could muster ∼ roughly that of a drunken Nord after a night on the mead ∼ I made my way foot by careful foot down the stairs and long the passageway to the next corner. Pressing myself flat against the wall, I peered around the edge. And came nose to nose with a Cyrodiilic vampire that had caught a hint of my presence and had had the same idea!

"WAH!" we both yelled, recoiling violently.

"Ummm," the young Imperial said hesitantly, "I kind of don't think you're supposed to be here."

"And I'm pretty certain you aren't supposed to be anywhere other than in the grave," I replied.

"Typical," the youth moaned. "I've been undead less than a year and everybody hates me. They hated me when I was alive, and now they hate me when I'm not."

I blinked in surprise. Vampiric angst, that was precisely what I needed right now. The fledgling vampire continued, "Raxle said it'd all be different when he turned me. I'd have power and, and women, and everything I... urk!"

I coughed as the dust of the vampire I'd just beheaded settled on the floor. Really, I thought as I stepped over the youth's final remains, I'd done him a favor. I'd certainly done the rest of the world one. His rambling discourse had done me one favor though, I now knew that I was facing a vampire clan rather than just a pack of the leeches. Vampiric packs hunted to feed, not to create new vampires ∼ it was only the Clans that did that, expanding their power by creating new vampires. I shivered, I still had nightmares about the clan I'd decimated beneath Druscashti and I hoped against hope that this clan was younger than Clan Quarra.

I was faced now with a choice: directly in front of me was a round iron door, to my right was another. The door on my right bore some Dwemer runes but they were faded and difficult to read, even if they hadn't been I wouldn't have understood what they were telling me. However, it quickly became obvious that the choice was no choice at all ∼ the door to my right was locked and the Dwemeric mechanism that secured it proved too complex for me to pick and remarkably resistant to the powers of Ondusi's ring. That left the door directly in front of me. Licking my lips, I applied a little grease to the rusty hinges and then pulled it towards me.

The door swung open silently and would have secured me the element of surprise against the occupants had not the bare-chested Breton been looking directly at the door as it swung open. He'd been about to say something but the words died on his lips when he saw me. Grinning evilly, he vaulted effortlessly over the table in front of him and began advancing on me. Nor was that my only problem: swirling purple sparks surrounded a vampiric female at the back of the chamber as she cast some spell to enhance herself and started to stalk me too.

"What are you? Ahh, I see." A third vampire had made its presence known, stepping from behind the thick pillar that had obscured her from my sight. Three against one: not exactly my favorite odds, even when the three weren't slavering blood-suckers intent on my demise... or worse. I suddenly had a vivid image of myself wandering these halls with a slave-bracer clamped to my wrist ∼ a handy snack for any of the Clan who felt peckish.

"Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata," I yelled desperately as the trio moved closer. There was a familiar grinding noise and the massive frame of a Storm Atronach ripped itself free of the metal walls and stood before me. Strange lights flickered in its eyes as it glared down at me and I gulped, aware that sometimes these Summons turned on their Summoner. The greed of the vampires is probably all that saved me, the bare-chested Breton rushing to close the gap between us ahead of his female companions so he'd be the first to feed.

Massive metallic hands clamped themselves around the vampire's head as the Atronach yanked him up and off his feet, muffled screams issuing forth as the Summoned's power ripped into him. Shaking him like a doll, the Atronach proceeded to hammer the hapless vampire against the metal walls, each impact a knell of doom. It had the added advantage of causing the two females to slow their advance as they realized it was no helpless adventurer that had invaded their stronghold.

A hastily thrown dagger found its mark, the handle blooming from the left eye-socket of the nearest vampire. While she was occupied with rolling around on the floor and screaming, I cast a quick fireball at the third vampire and then rushed her as she tried to recover her balance. The Last Wish hummed as it travelled in a short killing arc, the curved blade burying itself in the vampire's chest. I had been aiming for the heart but the Chitin armor had slowed the blow enough to prevent it from reaching its intended goal. Ripping the blade from her chest, the vampiress grabbed me and lunged forwards, fangs extended.

I felt a sharp prick at the throat and screamed. Unbidden, the boiling blood spell rose up in my mind as I attempted to shove the leech away from me. Then it was the vampire's turn to scream as the spell wrapped itself around her. Shoving the rapidly blackening and threshing form away from me, I staggered to my feet ∼ clutching my throat to stop the flow of blood from the twin wounds there.

The ruined face of the vampire I'd thrown the dagger at leered at me, her remaining eye glowing as she muttered some arcane cantrip. I staggered, feeling my will to resist fading as her eye grew brighter ∼ the foul infection from the bite already working within me. Her smile widened as her jaw unhinged, glistening canine-teeth lengthening as she drew me closer step by staggering step. The descent of the huge metallic fist came as a real surprise to both of us. The Atronach, finding itself clutching naught but a handful of dust had turned its attention to the last remaining vampire, and its intervention certainly saved me from the proverbial fate worse than death.

As the Atronach faded from view, I bent and picked up the axe ∼ swinging it in a short and final arch that decapitated the vampire easily and neatly. As the fine dust settled, I sank to my knees and gasped heavily, panting for breath. That had been a little intense... and it was about to get worse.

The door at the back of the chamber opened with a boom of metal on metal and two more vampires raced into the room, each yelling variations of "What's going on in here?" Three piles of dust mutely answered their questions and their baleful gazes turned on me. With a heartfelt sigh, I raised myself to my feet and gripped the shaft of the axe.

"Let's dance," I suggested. There followed a whirlwind of motion as, drawing on reserves of strength and fortitude I didn't know I had, I rushed at them ∼ the Last Wish humming a song of death as it whirled and span in my hands. My mind is a blur about what happened next: I have recollections of severing various appendages and casting spells but there is nothing specific there. I can only suppose that fear and need blanked out all conscious thought while my survival instinct and reflexes took over.

My next clear memory is of draining a phial of restore magicka potion while the blue-white sparks of the healing spell danced around me. The front of my robe was sodden with gore and the curve of the axe was pouring a stream of blood onto the floor. For some reason, my sword was jammed into the doorjamb of the unopened Dwemer door and a pile of gritty black dust spoke of the death of a vampire there. The atmosphere was crackling with recently discharged magic and large charred scorch marks marred the walls of the chamber. Perhaps I should rely on fear and instinct more often?

I shuddered uncontrollably as the memories of the bite came back. I fancied I could already feel the infection warping and twisting my nature. How long I had before the disease of vampirism corrupted me I didn't know, and despair washed over me. The treasures I found in the two chambers scarcely lifted my mood, even the presence of a pair of boots in the same heavy material as my armor failed to cheer me. Although, truth be told, my depressed mood didn't stop me from taking them, and the glass boots, and the multitude of lock-picks, probes and repair tools I found. As I sifted the fine dust of one of the vampires into a collection jar, I spotted a strangely wrought key.

The complex Dwemer lock clicked as I twisted the key and the heavy iron doors swung open. In the yellowish glow of the Dwemer lights a short corridor was revealed, terminating in a large circular chamber. Beside a workbench in this chamber stood an elderly Cyrodiilic male.

"So you've killed all my children have you?" the Man said, turning to face me. "Well, Clan Berne isn't destroyed yet ∼ I have aeons to rebuild and replenish. And I fancy I'll start with you." He stepped forward, eyes burning brightly. "Although I see you're already well on your way to becoming one of us," he leered.

"Not in this lifetime vampire," I spat.

"For three hundred years I stalked the streets of Camlorn," Berne said, "until those blasted vampire-slayers came. Gathering the remains of the Clan I came here. And some chit of a Dark Elf female isn't going to stop me." His shoulders hunched and there came a tenebrous creaking noise as his head dropped. I stepped back, as the vampire elder seemed to swell, growing taller and broader. There was nothing remotely mortal about his face when he looked up ∼ huge fangs protruding from a cavern of a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, nose flattened, and forehead bulging. From beneath the shelf of his brow, his feral eyes gleamed with a luminous red light and the desire for death and destruction.

Snarling, he rushed at me ∼ all claws, fangs, and the need to feed. My axe hammered into him as he came, the back and forth blow barely slowing him. Whipping the Wish up, I brought it down hard on the spot where his thick, studded armor met his muscular neck. He howled, throwing his head back ∼ allowing me the time to step back and draw my Ebony blade from its scabbard. Furious, scared senseless, desperate, I drove forward with the blade, embedding it in his black heart and forcing him, teeth snapping, backwards towards the wall of the chamber. With a thump, he struck the wall and I braced myself, working the blade deeper and deeper until I felt the point grating on metal.

"**NO!**" he screamed. "**THIS CANNOT BE. I AM RAXLE BERNE. I AM...**" The soft patter of dust on the floor prevented me from hearing what he thought he was ∼ his sudden dissolution catching me unawares and causing me to pitch forward into the wall. Ears ringing and various constellations whirling about my head, I staggered backwards and sat down ∼ suddenly and undignified.

I let out a weak laugh of triumph that dissolved into a series of sobbing cries. Shakily, the storm past, I rose to my feet and staggered over to the workbench. Using it to support myself, I took a while to adjust to the fact that I was still standing and, for the moment, still alive. How long that state of affairs would continue remained to be seen. My prize, a thick and antique volume, lay on the work bench: the dust of ages thick on its cover.

Blowing the accumulated dust of the ruins and Raxle Berne off it, I picked it up and opened it. Page after page of bizarre drawings annotated with spidery Dwemeric script greeted me. I skimmed though the book, coming at last to the final page. Sparkling script in yellow ink caught my eye and I felt a hammer-like blow to the head. Screaming, clutching my eyes as cold, soulless sounds in a language long forgotten thundered in my mind, I dropped the book and sank to my knees. "Please," I begged, "no more."

I don't know if the power that watches over me heard, or whether whatever I had triggered ran its course, but the thunderous sounds came to an abrupt end. Shakily, I reached out and picked up the book, flinching when I saw that it was still open to the final page. A blank page. Frantically, I flipped over the heavy, greasy feeling parchment ∼ page after page of drawings and notes but not a trace of the strange yellow text.

Bone-weary, I staggered from the ruins, wincing as the sun struck my bare flesh. Everything seemed too bright and too hot despite the fact it was after the noon hour. Dragging my pack through the dust, I staggered back the way I'd come. Never has the sight of my Tel been more welcome than when I crested the final hill and weaved my way down the slope. Kallin Basalius and Raissu Asserbas saw me and came running towards me.

"Here, let me take that," Raissu said, taking the strap of my pack from my unresisting hand. "My Gods, you look terrible."

"Get the apothecary," Kallin snapped, taking the bag from Raissu.

"What?" Raissu said.

"Quickly," Kallin hissed. "Can't you see she's been bitten?"

Clapping her hand to her mouth, Raissu raced off towards the stronghold while Kallin, supporting my weight helped me walk the last couple of hundred yards. The apothecary, Gorven Menas, was waiting for us when we drew near. Walking over, he examined my eyes and checked the inside of my mouth. "You were quite right Kallin," he said somberly, "definitely suffering from the vampiric disease. Drink this Arch-Magister," he said, pressing a small silver and glass flask into my hand. I drank deeply, feeling the corruption withering and dying as the potion restored and reinvigorated me.

"In its early stages," the apothecary told me as I returned the handsome flask, "vampirism can be treated like any common disease. A simple potion, scroll, or spell will fix you right up. The disease takes fully three days to irrevocably corrupt..."

"You mean I could have cured myself at any time with a spell I know well?" I wheezed in amusement, interrupting him. He nodded, and I laughed aloud. Not that I had any intentions of tangling with another vampire Clan, like ever, but it was good to know that I had the means to prevent myself from joining their undead ranks. Kallin helped me into the tower and guided me towards the bed. Gratefully, I collapsed onto the soft mattress and relaxed.


End file.
